


not one for being let down

by xslytherclawx



Series: Ides of Drarry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, odd jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xslytherclawx/pseuds/xslytherclawx
Summary: Draco needs a new flatmate. Harry needs a new flat.This is absolutely a terrible idea.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Regulus Black & Draco Malfoy
Series: Ides of Drarry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760830
Comments: 40
Kudos: 140
Collections: The Ides of Drarry: A Drarry Game/Fest, xslytherclawx & thestias's harry potter multiverse, xslytherclawx's Prompt Collection, xslytherclawx’s events collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _i know it's strange but  
>  i could stare at you all day  
> so maybe moving in might be  
> the worst decision that i've ever made  
> because i'm not one for being let down  
> and i'm starting to really like you  
> — wanna keep you around._
> 
> _so i'll try to keep my mind from wandering  
>  to thoughts of you and me  
> specifically the ones between the sheets  
> because those are a pipe dream_  
> »» museum mouth, "strange" (from the album _alex i am nothing_ )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna is moving out in a week. Draco is starting to get desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter specifically does not fill any prompts, but it helps to set the scene

In her defence, Luna gave him plenty of notice.

It’s not her fault that everyone who wants to take her place on the lease is either useless, a complete and utter moron, or both.

He truly didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky with her. Five years of having the perfect flatmate gone just like that.

He can’t blame her for wanting to move in with her boyfriend. If he had a boyfriend, god knows he’d want to live with him instead of Luna, much less some random person he’s never met. (Though Draco, personally, doesn’t think he could handle knowing his boyfriend is also dating someone else. Luna seems happy, and she even seems to  _ get on _ with Rolf’s boyfriend, so he doesn’t try to talk her out of it. Too much.)

“You’re going to have to pick someone sooner or later,” Luna says on a Thursday. “I move out in a week.”

“I know.” He’s known that for  _ months, _ and now… now he’s starting to think he might have to ask his godfather for help.

He can’t fathom doing that. He knows his godfather will help him, and he won’t even ask too many questions, but his godfather has already helped him so much. He can’t ask him for more.

So he has to figure  _ something _ out.

“You know… Harry’s just heard that his landlord is converting his flat. He has to find a new place to live.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.

Luna knows about Harry. Luna’s the only friend of his who  _ knows _ Harry. It’s his own fault; he introduced them, after all. He can’t be blamed for not thinking they’d get on; it’s hardly the first time he’s underestimated a situation.

“Absolutely not,” he says. He can’t fathom living with Harry Potter. 

Or, rather, he can’t fathom being  _ flatmates _ with Harry Potter.

“I understand if you’d rather talk to your godfather about handling the entire flat on your own, but I think Harry would be a good flatmate. He’s quiet, clean, and his parents can cover his rent if one of his jobs falls through.”

Draco has to admit that she makes a good point.

“I’m not asking him.”

“I can ask him for you.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve a friend like Luna. That Luna, despite all her quirks and her strange, dreamy bluntness, is good and kind and values her friends highly. He knows that if he really begs and pleads, Luna might even be persuaded to remain his flatmate, but he isn’t going to do that to her.

Besides, maybe living with Harry Potter will be the final kick in the arse he needs to get rid of this childish infatuation. Lord knows it’s gone on long enough, and Draco desperately needs something to just end it.

Seeing Harry intermittently at events his godfather throws, or sometimes out with Luna, is not enough to do that.

Living with him just might be. 

After all, everyone knows that living with your friends – and even, quite often, your significant other – is all too frequently the thing that kills any sort of warmth between you.

Why, then, should it not also apply to killing ridiculous infatuations that have gone on years too long?

* * *

Luna shows Harry the flat while Draco is at his obnoxious valet job. He detests everything about dealing with rich people as a service worker – especially when they recognise him, which happens far too often for his own comfort. He never thinks he looks overly like his father until someone he’s never met gives him that  _ look. _

He wonders if this would happen if he took more after his mother.

He wonders if his godfather would help him pay for cosmetic surgery. But no – that’s absurd. He doesn’t have any issue with how he looks.

If only his father didn’t look so much like him.

Needless to say, he is  _ far _ from in a wonderful mood when he arrives home, and the last thing he wants, as he takes off his shoes in the foyer, is for Luna to call him into the sitting room where she’s sat with Harry.

That is, of course, exactly what happens.

He tries to steel himself, but Harry Potter is as gorgeous right now as he ever has been, wearing a lazy outfit Draco would never let himself be caught dead in.

“Hello,” he greets.

“So,” Harry says, cutting right to the heart of the matter: “what’s the catch?”

“What do you mean by that?” Draco asks.

“I mean this is an amazing flat in a good neighbourhood, and I can  _ afford _ it.”

Oh. That. “My godfather owns it.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “And he doesn’t let you live here for free?”

“He’s tried, but I’m not going to accept his charity. It’s enough that he drastically undercharges for the flat rather than sell it.”

“Sirius would kill him if he knew he were charging you at all. If  _ Sirius _ had a spare flat, I think he’d be offended if I tried to even pay the utilities.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Regulus isn’t Sirius, is he?”

The truth of the matter is that Draco is  _ fairly _ certain Regulus is taking his rent checks and depositing them in some sort of trust. For all he knows, Regulus has never cashed a single one of Luna’s checks; he wouldn’t put it past his godfather to try to be sneaky like that. He’s never asked, mostly because he doesn’t want to know the answer.

Besides, it’s hardly as if Regulus needs any extra income.

“Did he decorate this sitting room?”

“No. I did.”

Harry looks around and snorts. “Should have figured.” He rolls his eyes, and Draco bites back a retort. He does need a flatmate. “All right,” Harry says. “But I’m only moving in because my dad will  _ kill _ me if I get involved in a dispute with my landlord. And worst case, I can always have Sirius talk sense into Regulus.”

Draco does snort at that. “Good luck with  _ that.” _ It’s not that Sirius and Regulus hate each other. Really. Draco knows they don’t. But they are  _ quite _ different people, and Regulus is cleverer than people give him credit for (though, to be fair, that might just be because most people who make it as footballers aren’t very clever to begin with). They’re both grown men, besides; there’s no reason for Regulus to listen to his brother.

“So Luna moves out in a week, and my lease is up in three… I assume I can move in any time after Luna leaves?”

“Yes,” Draco says. “I’ll have Regulus get someone to draw up a lease addendum.”

This is a good thing. He’ll realise how annoying and disgusting and obnoxious Harry is, and wonder how he ever could have fancied someone like him in the first place, and then it’ll all be fine.

Maybe one day they’ll all have a laugh about it. One day far, far into the future. Once he’s completely over Harry Potter. Perhaps they’ll even become friends.

Well, he can dream, can’t he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco attends his godfather's fifteenth anniversary party. Yes, fif _teenth_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for the prompt: "Harry and Draco both attend a party with certain expectations. Is it work or play? If they aren't in an established relationship, they must touch at least once at this party. If they are in an established relationship, perhaps they can't keep their hands off each other."

Draco isn’t certain that fifteenth wedding anniversaries are typically celebrated with large, lavish parties. Fiftieth, sure. That’s half a century. But fif _teenth? _ It seems arbitrary. He certainly doesn’t remember his parents doing anything of the sort.

But then his godfather is different. 

It’s not that Draco thinks that his parents weren’t ever in love, or that he’d be totally surprised if they were  _ still _ in love (though he’s sure going to prison for fraud and corruption on his father’s part must have dampened some of his mother’s steadfastness), but Draco has never had any reason to doubt that his godfather is madly in love with his husband.

Even after fifteen years of marriage – and that following ten years of dating, which makes a full quarter century together – Regulus and his husband, Max, are as devoted to each other as any couple Draco has ever seen.

He doesn’t begrudge Regulus and Max their anniversary party, lavish though it may be.

He is, however, thrown for a loop when he arrives to find his flatmate chatting with one of the players Regulus coaches.

He should have known Harry would be here; Regulus’s brother, Sirius, is Harry’s godfather. While he and Harry were never  _ friends _ as children (far from it), they had ended up at the same Black family events from time to time. And Sirius is certain to be  _ somewhere _ at his brother’s anniversary party. It’s Draco’s own oversight, really.

Before Draco can ruminate too much on that, his godfather’s husband spots him and throws an arm around his shoulder. “Draco! Glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Draco says. “Congratulations. Fifteen years is a long time.”

“Oh, you should see what we have planned for our fiftieth,” Max says with a wink. 

He can only imagine. “I assume it involves renting out a palace.”

“To start with, yes. Reg wouldn’t let me rent a palace this year. Can you believe he thought it would be too extravagant?”

Draco absolutely  _ can _ believe it, but he knows better than to tell Max that. He was, quite frankly, surprised his mother didn’t offer the manor for the party; Regulus has always been her favourite cousin, and the manor is rightfully  _ her _ property, even after everything that’s happened. “I think this venue was the right choice,” Draco says. “It’s more… intimate.”

“And now we only have to wait for Sirius to make a scene.”

Draco snorts, which he knows would make his father scowl, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Let me know if he starts and I’m not there,” Max says. He takes two flutes of champagne from a nearby waiter and hands one to Draco. “Though at the same time, please try not to start anything with Harry.”

“We’re flatmates,” Draco says, as if that means anything besides the fact that Luna had moved in to be with her boyfriend (and  _ his _ boyfriend) around the same time Harry’s studio lease had expired.

“Draco, please. I don’t want the drama, and neither does Reg.”

“I won’t start a scene with Harry,” Draco says. He can’t promise anything about Harry not starting a scene with him, which is how their scenes usually start.

Max hums and nods. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me – I should  _ probably _ find Sirius and say hello.”

“By all means,” Draco says. He has a suspicion Luna is around here somewhere, anyway, and his mother definitely is, so he can find them.

Of course, Harry intercepts him before he can so much as look around the room for Luna.

“Strike out with that footballer?” Draco asks, sipping his champagne and trying desperately to look nonchalant and keep his cool at the same time.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding me? He said his favourite Premier League club is  _ Arsenal.” _

“Can’t have that,” Draco says dryly.

“Some of us have standards, Malfoy.”

Luna, bless her, interrupts them at that moment by giving Draco a hug. So she  _ is _ here; Draco feels a rush of relief. “Draco, hello!”

“Hello,” he says, and he can’t fight back a smile. Luna is one of the few people whom he actually  _ likes, _ and who actually likes him, and it would have made his life so much easier if Luna had never moved out. “How are you? How is everything with Rolf?”

“Oh, it’s been lovely,” Luna says brightly. “Rolf’s a Libra, as you know, which means we’re quite well suited to each other.”

“Naturally,” Draco says. He still doesn’t know much about astrology, despite having been Luna’s flatmate for years, but he’s learned that the best way to handle anything Luna says that he doesn’t understand is to act as if he does. He’s certain she sees right through him, but it works for their friendship.

“For that matter, it’s a very good thing that Harry was able to move into my old room.”

Luna knows, of course. Draco has never seen much of a point in keeping it a secret from her. Harry, though, is  _ right there, _ and he looks confused as he asks, “Why?”

“You’re a Leo, and Draco’s a Gemini. Those signs are quite compatible.”

Harry looks about ready to laugh out loud. “You think me and  _ Malfoy _ are compatible?”

“It’s not a matter of what I think. It’s astrology. I understand if you don’t believe in it, but the stars are really quite revealing.”

Of course this is about astrology. He has a feeling it’s also, at least a bit, her own judgement. He doesn’t mind either way.

_ “Malfoy?” _ Harry repeats.

“Yes,” Luna says. “Fire signs and air signs go quite well together.”

Harry shoots Draco an exasperated look, and to be sure, their adventures in flatsharing thus far have not been the most harmonious. He hadn’t expected them to be, really. “But you’re settling in well with Rolf and Charlie, aren’t you?”

“Very well. We’re getting a goat.”

“A goat?” Harry repeats.

“Yes. I want to name him Ferdinand, but Rolf’s quite set on Eliyahu, and Charlie likes Esmeraldo. It’s caused quite a bit of tension, but we’re working through it.”

“I can imagine,” Draco says. He’s sure his imagination isn’t far off from the truth. Though, really, from what he knows about Rolf and Charlie, they’re both rather pragmatic and willing to talk through issues. More than he and Harry are, anyway.

Harry asks Luna a question about goats, and Draco takes that as an opportunity to excuse himself; Harry’s evidently decided that he’s going to talk to Luna for a bit, and Draco can’t stand to be so close to him for much longer.

He scans the room as he drains his flute of champagne. He has to give it to his godfather: he and his husband selected  _ excellent _ champagne. Draco hasn’t had anything this good in years.

He makes eye contact with Rolf and nods to him. He wouldn’t call Rolf a friend, not properly, but they get on well enough. He wishes Astoria were there; someone in whom Harry has no interest, and whom he can allow to distract him from the reality of his situation.

Somewhere around the middle of his second flute, his godfather finds him.

“Something tells me that isn’t your first flute.”

If it were nearly anyone else, Draco would tell them to piss off, but Regulus has always been rather more a father figure to him than his own father, so he is, unfortunately, quite soft where Regulus is concerned.

“You’ve excellent taste in champagne,” Draco says instead.

“You’re welcome to take a bottle home.” Which, Draco knows, means that he’ll be sure to have a case sent to the flat. More reason for Harry to call him a posh wanker.

(As if Harry doesn’t also have a public school education and didn’t also go to one of the top universities in Britain).

“Thanks,” Draco says. “And congratulations, Uncle Reg.”

Regulus squeezes his shoulder. “Max will say fifteen years is nothing, but I still wake up every day and can’t believe that I’m lucky enough to be married to the man I love – or that he still loves me back after all these years.”

Draco can’t really fathom what that’s like. It’s not that he thinks his mother would take issue with him marrying a man (he knows she wouldn’t, not really, as long as he provides her grandchildren to spoil), or that he cares at all what his father thinks (because his father is certainly not the sort of man to inspire love or even loyalty; he can’t imagine what his mother ever saw in him).

But finding someone who not only tolerates him, but  _ loves _ him? In that way? For so long?

He’s not sure he’ll ever find that.

He knows his godfather had a worse childhood than he did. Draco has always had his mother, who, for all her faults, loves him unconditionally. And he’s had Regulus and Max, too.

Regulus never had any loving parental figures as a child; he’s said more than once that Draco’s own mother was the closest he had until Max’s parents all but adopted him, and she’s scarcely six years older than Regulus is.

“Draco,” Regulus says.

Draco meets his gaze. He knows he’s lucky to have someone like Regulus in his life; he’s gay, he’s out, he had a very successful football career before moving on to an equally successful coaching career, and he is deliriously happily married to a man he obviously loves more than life itself.

And Regulus knows just how hard it is to be different in families like theirs. Draco thinks, privately, that his mother asking Regulus to be his godfather was her own private form of rebellion.

“Yes?”

“If you ever need anything, you know I’m just a phone call away.”

Draco also knows that Regulus sees himself in him. He wonders how Regulus must cope with that disappointment.

“I know,” Draco says.

He can read the look in Regulus’s eyes clear as day, but Regulus will never overstep his boundaries. He’s spent too long creating his own to do that to someone else, let alone someone Draco knows he views as as good as a son. But Draco doesn’t need therapy, or a shoulder to cry on.

It’s not like he’s some awkward, closeted virgin. Far from it!

And he doesn’t need romantic entanglements to be happy. Maybe Regulus does, but they  _ are _ two different people.

“You must know as well as I do that our relationships with our parents impact our relationships with everyone else.”

_ “You _ must know as well as I do that I’ve a perfectly healthy relationship with  _ my _ mother.”

Regulus lets out a weird breath that’s halfway between a scoff and a sigh. “I can only speak for myself, but I wasn’t able to go about a healthy relationship with  _ anyone _ without years of therapy.”

“And yet things seem to have worked out for you,” Draco says.

“They have,” Regulus agrees, “though it involved more hard work than most people realise.”

“And here everyone thinks that every Black has had everything handed to them.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Even  _ Sirius _ has had to do  _ some _ work. If you don’t do any, you end up like your Aunt Bella.”

Draco, to his credit, doesn’t shudder, but he does pull a face. “You may have a point.”

“Just do me a favour and don’t make a scene tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking your brother that?” Draco asks.

Regulus huffs.  _ “He’s _ a lost cause. You’re not. Besides, I’m fairly certain your only danger of getting involved in a scene involves Harry. Sirius can make a scene with anyone.”

He’s personally seen Sirius make a scene with too many people to argue that point. “I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee that Harry won’t make a scene with me.”

“Then if he tries, walk away.”

If only Regulus knew how difficult that is.

* * *

After Draco has made the rounds (including being fussed over by his mother, as if he’s still a child and not a grown man), he finds himself talking to several people he barely knows about a particularly inspiring football victory from high school.

“He left out the part where he cheated.”

Draco turns his head to see Harry, who looks  _ quite _ drunk. And here Draco thought he was drinking up all the champagne.

“I didn’t cheat,” Draco says.

Harry snorts. “You  _ always _ cheat.”

“I always win. I don’t always cheat.”

“Bullshit,” Harry says.

“It’s hardly my fault I’m better at football than you are,” Draco says, which is probably a bit too bitchy, and definitely goes against Regulus  _ and _ Max’s advice about not starting a scene, but he can’t help it. Harry just gets under his skin.

“Which is why you’re playing for Arsenal right now. Oh – wait.”

“Piss off,” Draco says. “Not all of us want to actively pursue a sport for a living, knowing full well how dangerous and volatile it is.”

“Of course that’s your excuse,” Harry says.

“It’s not an excuse. In case you’ve forgotten, my godfather was a professional footballer for  _ years. _ I’ve always been quite aware of how quickly a career can turn, so I wanted something more stable.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

Draco knows he should walk away. He should take a deep breath and not let Harry get to him.

The problem is, Draco’s always been quite horrible at that.

“I’ve not been concussed, nor do I have any leg or back injuries, so I’d say quite well.”

“But you’ve not got a stable job.”

“Nor have you,” Draco says, and he’s aware it’s deflecting, but  _ really? _

“But I’m not the one bragging about how I’m not a professional footballer just because I want a stable career.”

“I believe my initial reasoning was that it’s dangerous. Which it undoubtedly is.”

_ “I  _ believe you’re full of shit.” Harry’s in his face now, and that only agitates Draco further. 

“You just can’t handle that I’m better than you at something you like.”

“Prove it,” Harry says.

“Excuse me?”

“Prove it. That you’re a better footballer.”

Draco is aware there are enough professional (and ex-professional) footballers in the room to easily make up two teams.

He’s also aware that he doesn’t want to get his arse handed to him by Harry Potter in front of his godfather and his godfather’s friends.

“I can hardly play football in a suit like this.”

He’s half terrified that Harry will insist that they strip down to their pants, but it seems that, even pissed, Harry has more sense than that. “Saturday. You and me.”

“You’re on,” Draco says.

Harry pokes him in his chest. “Prepare to get your arse handed to you, Malfoy.”

Draco easily – much more easily than he feels – takes Harry’s hand and sets it back down by his side. “I’ll be sure to go easy on you when you lose.”

* * *

Normally, he’d expect not to see Harry until Saturday – that’s how things always used to be between them, before. They’d see each other at something Regulus or Sirius or Luna was doing, argue, and if they were lucky, have some ridiculous competition shortly thereafter.

Now, though, they split a cab and go home together.

Draco is acutely aware that they’ll be sleeping in separate rooms.

“I was serious about kicking your arse,” Harry says. “We might be flatmates now, but I  _ will _ kick your arse at football.”

“You can try,” Draco says. 

“I’m going to succeed.”

Draco snorts. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ve played football my whole life; you know that.”

“So have I,” Harry says.

“Yes, but  _ Regulus Black _ didn’t teach you the sport.”

“Maybe not, but my dad played football in school, too. And Sirius. Just because they never went professional doesn’t mean they didn’t have the option.”

Draco honestly isn’t quite sure what Sirius does with his life, which he’s aware probably means that Sirius is among the many idle rich in the middling nobility. Even if his father’s conviction hadn’t robbed his family of most of their money (thank god for prenups and Regulus, or else Draco and his mother might well be destitute), Draco doesn’t think he could ever live that life.

He can’t not be  _ doing _ something, and in that, at least, he knows Harry is the same.

“Do you ever think about how your father is at least partly responsible for my father spending the rest of his life in prison?” Draco asks.

“Only because Sirius hates him so much, and Sirius isn’t a barrister.”

Regulus doesn’t like Draco’s father, either. Not many people do. Draco isn’t even sure  _ he _ does, himself.

“Honestly, Malfoy, I know  _ you’re _ not stupid enough to do what he did.”

“Sometimes I wish my mum would move on,” Draco confesses. “Find someone who deserves her.”

Harry snorts. “My mum certainly did, and my dad’s not half as terrible as yours.”

Harry was blessed with two loving parents, and though Draco knows (from various sources) that they argue constantly, they both put him first. They’ve never held him up to any impossible standards.

“That’s different,” Draco says. “Your mother didn’t grow up like mine did. Women in her station – divorce isn’t as common. She wasn’t raised to think of it as an option.”

“I’m sure Regulus has tried to talk sense into her. He hates your dad almost as much as Sirius does. Which is saying something.”

“Regulus is deliriously happy and he wants his loved ones to  _ also _ be deliriously happy.” And his mother isn’t, and Draco knows that.

“Hasn’t worked on Sirius yet,” Harry says.

“Sirius might well be a lost cause.”

“And your mother isn’t?”

Draco shrugs. “No idea. Maybe she is.”

“Could you imagine getting everything you’ve ever wanted like he has? Marrying the person you’ve been mad for since you were a teenager, still being ridiculously in love well into your forties, getting your dream job and – managing to be that happy?”

“I’m sure he has his bad days.”

“Especially a gay guy who came out in the nineties.”

“Who came out as a  _ gay footballer. _ I couldn’t fucking imagine.” Draco is well aware that he was shielded from the worst of it as a child – especially since Regulus is only his godfather and his first cousin once removed. If he were more immediate family, or even if they shared a surname, Draco imagines that would have been more difficult. As it is, he’s aware that things were pretty awful for Regulus, at least publicly, for a while.

“Neither could I,” Harry says, which might just be vulnerability, but Draco’s fairly certain he’s imagining it. “Malfoy, listen –”

“I  _ really _ wish you’d call me Draco. We might not be friends, but we  _ are _ flatmates, and I rather think we can leave  _ that _ particular element of our childhood rivalry behind us.” 

He realises he’s really quite drunk as the words leave his mouth (because he’d  _ never _ say something like that whilst sober), but Harry doesn’t seem to think twice about it. Thank god. That would be the  _ last _ thing he needs.

“Draco, then, whatever. Listen. You  _ cannot _ ask Regulus for pointers on how to stop me kicking your arse at football.”

“I don’t need to ask Regulus for pointers on how to kick your arse,” Draco says.

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that. You’re going down.”

When the cab stops at their flat, Draco can’t quite stop Harry from handing over his credit card in time. It’s fine. He’ll pay him back later.

Except then he has to help Harry up the steps, because he is apparently too drunk to manage on his own. If you’d told Draco ten years ago – hell, even ten  _ weeks _ ago – that he’d be helping Harry Potter up the stairs to their shared flat – well, he just wouldn’t have believed you.

Harry has an arm around his shoulder, and Draco has his arm around Harry’s waist as they get to the door. Draco barely fumbles with the keys – but he’s drunk. He’s drunk. That’s all there is to it. It has nothing at all to do with the close physical proximity to Harry. Not at all.

He flicks the lights on and helps Harry into his bedroom and to his bed.

“You should pay me for this,” Draco says. “Taking care of drunks isn’t part of my responsibility as your roommate.”

“Fuck you,” Harry says. Draco’s surprised to hear no actual venom in Harry’s voice. Maybe they should drink together more often; Harry’s never this nice to him.

“Alternatively, you could learn how to handle your liquor. I’d be fine with either.”

“You’re drunk, too,” Harry says. “And  _ you’re _ less of an obnoxious twat when you’re drunk.”

_ “That _ feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” Draco says. “Goodnight, Harry.” He double checks to make sure the front door is locked before taking off his shoes by the door and going to his bedroom. 

He doesn’t bother changing into pyjamas, but he does hang his suit up. He’s not too drunk to forget himself there; if nothing else, he was raised to know better than to leave a good suit crumpled on the floor. 

He gets into his bed wearing nothing but his pants and tries not to think about the entire night. It’s not productive. He knows it’s not productive. He knows better than to get caught up in Harry Potter all over again.

At least he hopes so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry drags Draco out for a dink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was: "Harry or Draco takes an experimental potion. It has some unintended side effects." which was interesting in a Muggle AU.  
> It takes place a few weeks after the last chapter.

Living with Harry really isn’t as horrific or earth-shattering as Draco expected. Really, Harry mostly keeps to himself, so even when Draco is tempted, in his weaker moments, to do something he might regret, the opportunity just isn’t there.

Besides, they often end up with incompatible schedules, so even when he can see evidence that Harry’s been in the sitting room or kitchen, they’re rarely in the same room at the same time.

It suits him just fine, most days. He isn’t particularly bothered that he’s living with  _ Harry Potter _ and they’ve not become best friends and they  _ don’t _ try to spend time together. 

He isn’t.

(All right, perhaps he’s a  _ bit _ bothered, but it’s certainly no different from what he  _ expected.) _

Though, really, he doesn’t know why Harry, with all his privileges (and family money) has turned to food service and petsitting as a way to earn money. Surely his parents would help him if need be.

(Yes, Draco is perfectly aware that he need only say the word to his godfather and he’d be set for life; it’s his godfather’s old flat he’s leasing, and he knows for a fact that his Regulus is  _ drastically _ under-charging him. He’s not going to ask Regulus for  _ more _ help, though. He has more pride than that.)

Draco is working on a project in the sitting room when Harry comes home. It’s about two in the morning, and instead of going straight to his room, Harry comes into the sitting room and stops.

“Oh,” he says. “You’re up.”

Draco tries not to bristle. Is Harry actively avoiding him? Draco knows he hasn’t always been the most pleasant person to be around (nor is he currently), but he’s never really thought Harry dislikes him  _ that _ much.

“I am,” Draco says.

Harry throws himself down onto the sofa and grabs one of the controllers for – well, Draco honestly isn’t even sure which gaming system it is. Harry brought it with him when he moved in. “You want to play FIFA?”

“I’m working.”

Harry huffs, and Draco looks over.

“What?”

“I’m trying to be  _ nice, _ arsefuck.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “If you call that  _ nice, _ I’d say it explains quite a lot.”

“Fuck it,” Harry says, putting the controller down. “Let’s go out.”

“Excuse me?” Surely he’s misheard. 

“You’ve gone out before, haven’t you?” Harry asks. “Let’s go out. Ron’s sister is a bartender at this lesbian bar, and they’re still open.”

“I hardly think it’s appropriate for us to go to a lesbian bar.”

“We’re going to get pissed, not to hit on lesbians. Jesus, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Draco corrects.

“Draco,” Harry repeats. “Come on.”

He can think of a million reasons why this is a terrible idea. It would be too easy to plead off and go to bed, or just keep working. He doesn’t need to go out. He really doesn’t think he has the money to waste. He  _ really _ doesn’t think it’s appropriate for two men to go to a lesbian bar, even if Harry knows one of the bartenders.

But it’s not often that Harry wants to spend time with him, and when it’s not one of their ridiculous competitions… this is unprecedented. 

And Draco knows better, really he does, than to just throw it away.

“Fine,” he huffs, as if this is some great concession on his part. As if his heart isn’t pounding out of his chest. “But I’m hardly going out dressed like this.” He is, after all, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and he’d rather die than go out in  _ public _ like this.

Harry grins, and Draco darts to his room. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe all of this is a mistake.

His hands shake as he changes his clothes. Stupid, traitorous hands. He opts for something simple and understated and that he  _ really _ hopes none of the lesbians in the bar will take as a sign that he’s there for them. Maybe he can convince Harry to go to a gay bar instead. Or a hetero bar. 

He really doesn’t want to get his arse handed to him by lesbians, though he knows Harry would find it hilarious.

He puts on a simple fitted button-up, black jeans, and grabs a pair of plain leather shoes.

Harry is waiting by the door, wearing the same ratty hoodie and jeans that he came in with. Draco feels overdressed. He supposes he should have anticipated that much.

Harry gives him a once over, and Draco can tell that he wants to say something, but mercifully, his mouth stays shut.

It’s a short walk to the bar, and it’s warm enough outside that Draco really doesn’t miss having a jacket. 

He knows he should be cool and suave and indifferent, but sometimes it is physically impossible for him to shut the fuck up, so he says, “So are you going to tell me why you’re taking me to a lesbian bar?”

Harry shrugs. “I need to pick something up from Ginny anyway.” 

Draco doesn’t ask what. Nor does he ask why Harry’s brought him along. “Didn’t know Weasley’s sister worked at a lesbian bar.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says. “She has done for a while, I think. When she’s not playing football.”

That much he thinks he has heard before. Luna really is the only friend he and Harry have in common. He tries not to think too much about Harry and his friends; it’s not healthy, and he’s long learned that it’s better to focus on healthy things.

Harry leads him to a Tube station, so he taps his Oyster Card and follows him to a platform and onto a train. They manage to talk about football – the one interest Draco thinks they even have in common, even if they  _ do _ support different clubs – until Harry says it’s time to get off.

Draco has no choice but to follow.

The bar itself is low-key and small, and Harry walks right in like he owns the place. There aren’t that many people there; two bartenders and a handful of women. Draco notices that the few people who  _ are _ in the bar seem to recognise Harry, so he has to wonder if he’s there a lot. He walks right to one of the bartenders – an admittedly quite pretty ginger.

“If you chase away my customers, Harry…” she says in lieu of greeting.

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m here to talk to one of my oldest friends, not try and fail to hit on women who explicitly don’t want to be hit on by men.”

Draco snorts. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Harry (he doesn’t think Harry is  _ gay, _ not properly, but he knows Harry well enough to know that he takes honour quite seriously), but it’s really just hit him that he’s walked into a lesbian bar.

“I think we’re both been to enough gay bars to know that much,” Harry says, rolling his eyes at Draco. “Anyway…”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Draco knows better than to ask what, exactly, Harry is picking up from Ginny, nor why he had to come along for this. He’d only been too eager to spend time with Harry. He really needs to get himself under control.

Harry isn’t his friend. Harry is never going to be his friend. Draco has no earthly idea why Harry’s invited him along tonight, but it’s certainly not because they’re friends. They aren’t.

He’s known that Harry would never be his friend since they were eleven years old. He’s had over a decade to come to terms with it.

Harry drums his fingers idly on the bar. He’s never really been able to sit still; it’s something Draco has always found equal parts annoying and endearing.

Now, though, it’s annoying. “Must you?”

“Must I what?” Harry asks.

Draco pulls a face and imitates Harry drumming his fingers on the bar. “That.”

Harry actually blushes. “Oh. Sorry. I hadn’t realised I was doing it.”

A likely story. “Well, it’s  _ quite _ annoying.”

Harry rolls his eyes and turns to the other bartender; Weasley still isn’t back yet. “Lavender, can we get two shots of vodka, please?”

The woman – around their own age, chubby, with curly blonde hair – smiles. “Sure thing, lovely!”

Just how often is Harry in this bar?

Draco takes the shot offered, mostly because he’s fairly certain that he’ll barely feel it. Lavender’s paying attention to them now, and he says, “A lesbian bar wasn’t my idea.”

“Oh, of course it wasn’t, darling,” she says. “Harry’s here all the time. I think it  _ started _ because Ginny would give him free drinks.”

“You should follow her example,” Harry says. “I still tip her; I’d tip you, too.”

Lavender shakes her head. “No way. But I  _ can _ make you this new drink I’ve been trying.”

“I think I’ll pass, thank you,” Draco says. He tries to only stick with tried and true mixed drinks, but more than anything else, he prefers to stick to wine and beer at pubs and clubs.

“Suit yourself,” Lavender says. “Harry?”

“I’m game,” he says.

Lavender grins and starts mixing him a drink that Draco has to imagine is highly toxic. She’s still mixing when Ginny comes back from the back with a brown paper package which she tosses to Harry, who catches it midair.

“Cheers,” Harry says as he pockets it. “Gin, can we get him a vodka tonic?”

“Vodka tonic?”

“Seems your style,” Harry says.

It  _ is _ his style; in fact, it’s one of his staples, and he hates that Harry seems to know that without ever having gone drinking with him before. “No. I’ll be fine with just a Merlot, thanks.”

Harry pulls a face, but he mercifully doesn’t say anything to Draco, and instead turns to Lavender.

Ginny Weasley uncorks a bottle of wine and pours Draco a glass. He can tell from the bottle that it’s not high quality, but that’s fine. When he takes a sip, it’s not terrible, but he supposes it’s better than being at home, working on his project. (Even if his wine at home is better than this; he still has a few bottles left from the case his godfather sent over after his party).

He nearly spits out the wine when he sees the horrendous multicoloured beverage Lavender sets in front of Harry. Nearly. He was raised a bit better than that.

Ginny gives him a look that says this is a normal occurrence. “He’s got sick more than once,” she whispers. “He’s the only one brave enough to try Lavender’s drinks.”

“I can imagine,” Draco says.

“Fuck off; my drinks are  _ brilliant. _ Harry says so.”

Ginny snorts. Draco thinks maybe Harry doesn’t have shit taste in friends; Ginny, at least, seems decent.

“All the same, I think I’ll stick with wine.”

“Suit yourself,” Lavender says.

Harry sucks down the drink, and, to his credit, he doesn’t even pull a face. Draco isn’t sure he’d be able to take more than a sip of whatever that concoction is without retching.

“Lav, can you do anything with those gummy bears I love so much?” Harry asks.

Draco isn’t stupid. In fact, he’s rather clever.

And he realises two things: one, there was probably more alcohol in that one drink than in the entire bottle of wine Draco’s  _ not _ ordered, and two, Harry is brazenly asking for weed gummies in a bar in London like that’s a normal thing to do on a Thursday night.

And maybe it is for him.

Lavender smiles and obliges, and within minutes, Harry is sucking down another concoction, and Draco starts his second glass of wine.

Then Harry requests more shots for both of them. (Draco accepts).

Then another disgusting mixed drink. Draco is actually feeling all right with his decision to go out with Harry. He’s buzzed enough now to let himself forget he’s in a lesbian bar, and Harry is getting chattier and more touchy with every drink – though Draco supposes he is, as well. He’s a chatty drunk. He’s a chatty  _ person, _ period. Harry doesn’t seem to mind tonight.

He hasn’t told him to shut the fuck up, at least, which is a marked improvement from their normal dynamic.

Draco orders a third glass of wine, and Ginny offers to just put the whole bottle on their tab (Draco accepts; he’s not an idiot), and he definitely thinks he should slow down. This Merlot might be cheap, but it’s still wine, not shots, and he can at least take his time with it.

Harry finishes his third disgusting mixed drink, and Draco suspects that he might have to corral Harry home soon. It’ll be fine. Harry will bitch and moan, but he’ll let Draco take him home and set him to bed because he knows it’s better than being stuck in the bar alone.

Draco is not prepared for Harry Potter to lean in and kiss him.

He’s thought for years about what it would be like. How it would feel to have Harry Potter –  _ the _ Harry Potter – kiss him. He never actually thought it would happen, but he’s imagined a million ways it might. Some futile romantic fantasies never hurt anyone, right?

He’s certainly never imagined it happening in a lesbian bar.

Nor did he imagine an audience.

The worst part is that Draco doesn’t pull away immediately. He knows he should. He should push Harry away and ask him what the  _ fuck _ he’s thinking, and tell him that you can’t just  _ kiss _ someone like that, never mind that Harry knows perfectly well Draco’s a solid Kinsey 4.5.

Maybe a full on 5 with  _ Harry Potter _ kissing him.

Later, he’ll be able to rationalise it by saying that he didn’t know if he’d ever get this chance again, but in the moment, the truth of the matter is that he’s a slave to his baser impulses.

Harry’s the one to pull away, but before Draco can fully process what’s just happened, Harry’s kissing him again, and what’s worse, Harry’s hand is now, somehow, cupping Draco outside his jeans.

And that, really, is what leads Draco to pull away.

If Harry Potter is going to make him cum in his trousers, he’s not going to do it in a lesbian bar.

Harry doesn’t even look at him when he asks Ginny for the bill – and he doesn’t let Draco pay, either.

Draco isn’t bothered by the lack of hand-holding or physical affection outside of the bar. They’re both men, and it’s late at night (or, rather, early in the morning), and he’s not particularly in the mood to be hate crimed.

They walk to the Tube station like nothing’s happened. Well, not quite. Harry’s quite drunk, again (and it’s not as if Draco thinks he’s totally sober, himself, but he realises neither of them have any idea what was in those drinks Lavender kept feeding Harry), so he’s chattier and more affectionate than he normally would be.

Draco has to wonder if Harry even realises who he’s with, but then Harry calls him by his first name, and he realises with a start that Harry isn’t quite that far gone. 

There’s no one of the platform when they get down, and it’s far too deep for Draco to even pretend to check his phone, so he sort of just stands there and tries to process what’s happened.

Harry kissed him. Harry Potter kissed him in a bar full of people, and Draco has no idea why. Harry doesn’t like him. He’s only too aware of that fact.

So why the fuck did he kiss him?

Draco knows he should have pushed him away, but he hardly thinks anyone can blame him for letting Harry kiss him instead.

He’ll process Harry’s immediate reaction to cup him outside his jeans later. When he’s alone in his bedroom, which is, fortunately, nearly as far away from Harry’s as it can be in the flat.

Their train comes, mercifully empty. Harry sits down in an empty spot and digs the packet out of his trouser pocket. He takes a cookie out, and breaks it in half. “You want some?”

It’s not that Draco doesn’t trust Harry. Or Ginny, who gave Harry the package. 

But he is  _ fairly _ certain that the cookie is laced with something, and while Draco isn’t some straight-edge teetotaler, it’s also four in the morning, and he doesn’t want an edible to kick in in an hour when he’s about to go to bed.

So he declines.

“I have gummies, too,” Harry says. “I had a couple of them in the bar. Lavender put some in my second drink.”

So his hunch was right, then. Draco, as a rule of thumb, prefers smoking to edibles. When he smokes, it’s easier to moderate how high he gets. With edibles, it’s a lot more difficult. And that isn’t to mention the time Luna took him to a music festival, gave him half of a special brownie, and he spent the entire night having panic attacks and agonising over the possibility that he might be living in a simulation.

So, no, he’s not going to take any of Harry’s gummies.

“You can keep them,” Draco says.

Harry shrugs. “More for me, I guess.”

“I’m not talking you down if you start having a panic attack.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Fortunately, it’s only a few stops until they’re nearly home, and the only reason Draco doesn’t take the escalator two steps at a time is the reality that Harry is not only pissed, but he’s also taken lord knows how many edibles, and – well, it’d just make him a shit roommate to leave him completely alone.

When they get into the flat, Draco fully expects Harry to turn right into his bedroom, but instead he drags Draco into the living room. They’re both still wearing their shoes, so Draco makes a note to remind Harry to mop tomorrow, because this was hardly  _ his _ idea, and he’s not going to clean up after him.

“I thought,” Harry says as he shoves Draco down onto the sofa, “that we could finish what we started at the bar?”

Draco knows he can’t do this. He’s not sober, but he’s less pissed than Harry. And he doesn’t want Harry to shag him just because he’s drunk. And high. He doesn’t really think he could take that.

But then Harry is in his lap and he’s  _ kissing _ him again, and Draco is so very distracted and perhaps a bit too hopelessly in love with someone who, until tonight, has been quite adamant that he doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Draco doesn’t know what to do.

Fortunately, Harry pulls away. “I know you better than to think you’ll actually fuck me tonight.”

“Is that an option?” Draco says, trying his best to sound cool and disinterested and even  _ snide. _ He ignores how his heart feels like it might beat through his chest at any moment, and hopes Harry doesn’t notice.

Harry laughs. Christ, he has a beautiful laugh. But Draco knows better. He knows better. Harry kisses him again, quickly this time. He kisses and nips at his neck. “I thought maybe we might not want to kill each other so much if we fucked sometimes.”

“That  _ must _ be the most romantic proposal I’ve ever heard.”

Harry laughs again. “It’s not as if I’m against kissing. Kissing’s fun. I’m not one of those blokes who’ll fuck another man and then refuse to kiss him.”

“So… what?” Draco asks, trying his best to make sense of this, but his mind is muddled. More from hormones than alcohol, but Harry doesn’t need to know that.

“So you’re an obnoxious fucking prick, but I think the occassional snog or fuck might let us get on a bit better. It’s not like I haven’t seen you staring at my arse.”

“I don’t stare at your arse,” Draco lies. He hopes he isn’t blushing.

“Fine,” Harry conceded. “Then it’s not as if I haven’t stared at your arse. And – I mean, you notice, couples tend to have an easier time living together than flatmates? It’s all the sex.”

Draco doesn’t think that’s strictly true, but never having lived with anyone he’s ever dated, nor having had sex with anyone he’s ever lived with, he hardly feels as if he’s qualified to judge.

“So you just expect me to agree to – what, casual sex with my flatmate? That’s a  _ horrible _ idea, Harry, and you know it.”

Harry waves a hand. “It’s only a horrible idea if we let things get messy. We won’t let things get messy. And if we start to, like, date other people, we’ll stop, obviously. Though hook ups should be fine. We can lay out ground rules, if you want, but I think it’s the only thing that’ll stop me murdering you in your sleep.”

“Charming,” Draco drawls.

Harry grins. Fuck, he  _ is _ gorgeous, and he knows it. Draco knows he knows it. “You can think about it. But I think it’s a fucking brilliant idea.”

Draco knows it’s a horrible idea. It’s probably the worst idea Harry’s ever had, in fact. He can’t even verbalise how horrible the idea is.

But at the same time… Harry Potter is offering to have sex with him. Frequently, from the sound of it. And Draco is a bit too selfish and self-destructive to immediately turn that offer down. Even though he knows it’s the right thing to do. And he knows that taking Harry up on his offer is just going to hurt him and fuck any chance of normality between them up immeasurably.

But Jesus Christ does he want to have sex with Harry.

“I doubt you’ll think it’s such a brilliant idea in the morning,” Draco manages.

“I will,” Harry says.

Draco feigns disinterest. “In any case, I’m going to bed. Take your shoes off. And you’ll be mopping the floor tomorrow, as you decided coming in here and trying to ravish me was more important than obeying the  _ one _ house rule I’ve had laid out since day one.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Christ, you could do with a good shag. Do you prefer to top? Or bottom? Because I’m fine either way.”

“I prefer you to clean up after yourself,” Draco says, which sounds much snappier in his head than it does coming out of his mouth. “I’m going to bed.  _ Goodnight, _ Harry.”

“Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams.”

He sees Harry start to set up for a video game before he even leaves the living room, and that’s fine. It’s fine. This is all totally and completely fine. He’s not going to panic. 

He takes his shoes off and sets them by the door, and then he goes back to his room. He undresses quickly, tosses his clothes in the hamper, and then, once he hears Harry’s video game starting, takes care of business on his own.

He doesn’t need Harry to fuck him.

Really.

He’s fine.

Harry will realise what an awful idea this was in the morning, and things will go back to normal between them. It’s fine. 

It’ll be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets coffee with Luna and Astoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter doesn't fill any prompts, but I felt like I needed it between the last one and the next one.

He meets Luna and Astoria for coffee a week after the Incident.

They take turns picking a place for coffee, and this time, it’s Luna’s turn, which means some crunchy vegan cafe in Bethnal Green. He doesn’t mind it nearly as much as he makes out to, which he suspects Luna and Astoria both can tell. But, well, he has a reputation to uphold.

Luna is waiting for him when he shows up, and she greets him with a hug. “How are you?”

“I’d rather wait until Astoria is here to get into all  _ that,” _ he says.

“Harry?” Luna asks.

“What else? But tell me how  _ you _ are.”

Luna nods and delves easily into a discussion about Rolf, Charlie, their goat (for whom they’d still not agreed upon a name), and how well she’s been settling in with them. He’s happy for her, really. Living with Rolf (and Charlie, by extension) has been great for her. She’s happier than he can remember ever seeing her, and, well, Rolf and even Charlie seem to  _ understand _ her in a way he can’t claim to.

He’d have to be a complete arsehole not to be happy for her.

He can, however, freely admit to being a bit jealous. It’s only natural. 

It’s not that he ever really thought he’d be the  _ first _ of his friends to be in a serious, committed relationship, but he is twenty-six, and he’d at least hoped he’d have one by now. Instead, all he has is a few casual relationships with some hookups thrown in.

And Luna and Astoria are both so  _ happy. _ Draco knows that can’t be the case the entire time, but he’d settle for “happy, generally-speaking”.

Astoria comes in while Luna is still talking about how the goat ate their electricity bill.

“Hello,” she greets. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, no,” Luna says. 

“How are you?” Draco asks.

“I’m all right – though I  _ have _ just been informed that Pansy can’t get out of that trip next month.”

“What trip?” Luna asks.

“She has a business trip to Hong Kong when I’m meant to go to a friend’s wedding. She was going to be my date, but as she can’t get out of it, I can’t imagine that’ll happen now.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco says.

Astoria shrugs. “It’s hardly the end of the world.”

“But you can go without her, can’t you?” Luna asks.

“Oh, I can, and I will, though it won’t be as interesting without her.”

“Do I know the couple?” Draco asks. After all, even if he doesn’t bother with most of the posh people he used to know, that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t  _ know _ them now.

Astoria shakes her head. “One of the grooms is a friend from uni. The other one I only met through his fiancé.”

Draco isn’t surprised that it’s a gay wedding – they are  _ Astoria’s _ friends, after all, so if it’s not a society wedding, that is the only logical conclusion.

“I’ll sort it out,” Astoria says. “I’m  _ much _ more interested at the moment with how living with a certain Mr. Potter is going.”

“It’s fine,” Draco lies. 

“It is  _ not _ fine,” Astoria says. She knew it was a bad idea from the start, unlike Luna, and he knows she’s right. She said it would make him miserable to live with Harry. Look at him now. Astoria was right all along.

He knows he’s lucky to have two friends like Astoria and Luna, but in the moment, he can’t help but wish they didn’t know him  _ quite _ so well.

He heaves a sigh. “He dragged me to some lesbian bar last week, got pissed, and tried to snog me.” 

“And you didn’t let him?” Astoria asks.

“Give me  _ some _ credit.” Which isn’t quite a lie. He still can’t completely believe that he’s snogged Harry Potter, nor can he bring himself to regret it, much as he knows it was a terrible idea.

Luna says, “So you didn’t tell him how you feel.”

“Of course not!” Draco’s horrified at the very suggestion. Tell Harry how he feels! He suspects that would be next to impossible even if he weren’t fairly certain that Harry dislikes him. He’s never been very good at vulnerability and intimacy – something which has shot him in the foot on more than one occasion and which he’s certain will not help him now.

“I suppose that could get messy…” Luna says. She supposes? But then he takes a step back. This is Luna. Something like that would, somehow, probably work out for her. If anyone he knows could make this situation work, it  _ would _ be Luna.

“He did, er, offer a sort of… casual sex situation? But obviously I’m not going to go through with it.”

“That  _ does _ sound like a rather terrible idea,” Astoria says.

“Exactly.” He’s glad she agrees. Part of him, though, feels a bit disappointed. Perhaps he expected that if Astoria were to agree, he could rationalise to himself that it could work.

But that’s ridiculous. It can’t work.

As frustratingly gorgeous and sexy and annoying as Harry is.

“Why not?” Luna asks.

“Because he’s my flatmate, because his father put mine in prison, because it’d just be a fuck to him, because he  _ hates _ me. Take your pick, honestly.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Luna says.

“Come off it.”

“He doesn’t. He says you’re annoying and frustrating, but he doesn’t  _ hate _ you. If anything, I think he has a bit of grudging respect for you. Besides, he’s been quite fixated on you as long as I’ve known him.”

_ “Fixated _ on me?” Draco repeats.

“Yes. It’s always  _ Malfoy’s doing this _ and  _ Malfoy’s done that. _ I suspect he does it more with friends who don’t also like you.”

Draco finds it hard to believe that Harry talks about him behind his back, but even if he does… “How is that not hatred?”

“It’s not. Obviously I’m not going to repeat everything he’s said, but it’s quite clear he doesn’t actually  _ hate _ you. He’s quite competitive, and you’re not in dissimilar situations – though for quite different reasons.”

“I… I suppose you’ve got a point…”

“Harry doesn’t hate you, Draco. Though if you think having sex with him would be a bad idea, that’s your decision to make.”

If only it were that easy. “Enough about me. Please. Astoria, how is everything besides, er, Pansy’s business trip?”

That, fortunately, is enough to keep the discussion focused on her for a while, and to keep the conversation away from Harry Potter. He’ll be damned if Harry’s going to ruin coffee with his friends on top of everything else. He can’t let Harry have that much control over his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes to a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was for a prompt - which is at the bottom!

As he gets ready, he curses Pansy Parkinson and her ridiculous, expensive, international business trips.

He knows if his father hadn’t defrauded millions, he’d likely be doing the same thing, and he’d probably be more insufferable about it, but even so.

Pansy just  _ had _ to have an important business trip to Hong Kong while Astoria’s friend from university is getting married.

“I’ve already agreed to a plus one,” Astoria says to him. She is, after all, his oldest friend. But sometimes… sometimes being reminded of what she has reminds him of what he  _ could _ have, were his father not a complete and utter soulless prick.

He can’t say no to Astoria, and she knows that. They always felt drawn to each other as children, and after an awkward attempt at dating in their teens, he can safely say that Astoria Greengrass is one of the few people he trusts wholeheartedly.

Much to his occasional dismay.

“I don’t even know those people, Astoria.”

“That doesn’t matter. All you’ve got to do is look pretty and enjoy the open bar.”

“I resent that,” Draco says.

But of course he agrees. 

He knows he  _ can _ refuse. Astoria might whine and needle him, but she’ll accept his decision at the end of the day. 

The truth of the matter is that he really doesn’t have anything better to do.

“When is it, again?”

Astoria grins and hugs him. “You won’t regret it!”

He’s fairly certain she’s wrong.

* * *

The wedding is in a botanical garden, which doesn’t seem that off for someone who managed to become friends with Astoria. People of their social class tend to go a bit further than your standard church weddings, and Draco isn’t a fan of the organ, anyway.

Astoria looks stunning in a pale pink dress; her dark brown hair is perfectly curled and styled. Everything she’s wearing, head to toe, is designer.

Draco was raised to play a certain part in social situations, and it’s only too easy to turn that back on. When he’s asked if he’s dating Astoria, he laughs and says, “Unfortunately, I’m only accompanying her to the wedding whilst her fiancée is on a business trip.”

Which, naturally, leads to questions about Pansy and what she does for a living, which Astoria is all too happy to answer.

Before too long, the ceremony is due to start, so he and Astoria find their seats. All Draco knows about this wedding, going in, is that one of the two grooms is someone Astoria went to uni with.

It’s actually quite a beautiful wedding, if Draco does say so himself. He isn’t an expert in such things, but he does have a good eye. It’s a beautiful day – as sunny as it ever properly gets in London, and the gardens are beautiful.

It isn’t until he sees one of the best men that he feels as if he’s entered some sort of bizarre,  _ Twilight Zone- _ esque alternate reality.

“Is that Harry?” Astoria whispers to him.

It is. Harry  _ fucking _ Potter is not only here, but he actually appears to be  _ in _ the wedding.

“He’s not for the groom you’ve been friends with for years _ , _ is it?” Draco asks.

“No,” Astoria says. It’s a small mercy. It doesn’t do anything to change the fact that his flatmate, whom he’s in love with, is somehow at this same wedding.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Harry didn’t  _ tell _ him he had a wedding to go to. They don’t really  _ talk _ to each other. He didn’t tell Harry his plans, either.

It’s more that Draco expected this to be a society wedding. A gay couple who was lucky enough to be born into families that didn’t cut them off when they came out (or, at least, made up for it later).

He thought he was safe. He knows he and Harry have some social circles in common; his godfather and Harry’s godfather are brothers, after all, and that’s not to mention their mutual friend in Luna. But Harry decidedly does not belong to the same sort of social circles as Astoria.

So then how does Harry know anyone involved here?

Draco skims the program, and Harry’s name is the only one he feels confident he recognises. It’s decidedly  _ not _ a society wedding, then. Though – on a double take, he does see Justin Finch-Fletchley listed among the groomsmen on the other side; Finch-Fletchley is a name he recognises, and it’s not purely from a society standpoint.

How his public school (secret) boyfriend wound up  _ in _ this wedding is beyond him, and he’s definitely going to have words with Astoria for neglecting to tell him that her friend asked  _ Justin _ to be in the wedding. Astoria is one of the few people who knew the truth about Justin, after all.

It’s also not lost on him when they come out that one of the grooms – the one Astoria knows, not the one Harry  _ apparently _ knows – is wearing a skullcap, and – yes, that definitely makes the wedding canopy make more sense. 

He tries to focus on the wedding, which is absolutely beautiful, and not on the fact that both Harry  _ and _ Justin are involved.

He quite wishes he’d stayed home.

* * *

Harry catches him at the reception, where Draco has been steadfastly avoiding Justin. To repeat:  _ Harry _ catches  _ him _ at the reception. Draco is holding polite conversation with Astoria and some of her friends from university (which largely consists of talking Pansy up, avoiding questions about what  _ he’s _ doing for a living, and trying not to sound pretentious when he’s pressed into saying that he attended Oxford) when Harry grabs him by the arm, says “excuse me” and pulls him away.

“What the  _ hell _ do you think you’re doing?” Draco hisses.

“What am  _ I _ doing? What are  _ you _ doing?” Harry demands.

“Pansy’s in Hong Kong, so I’m doing Astoria a favour.”

“Astoria?” Harry asks.

“Yes. Astoria.” He honestly doesn’t know whether Harry’s ever met her; he’s tried quite hard to keep Harry and his personal life separate, but that’s no guarantee.

“Wait, wait, wait. Astoria  _ Greengrass _ is – that’s your Astoria?”

“She’s hardly  _ my _ Astoria,” Draco says. “I mean, we did date – briefly – as teenagers, and to say it didn’t work out would be an understatement.”

“Because you’re gay.”

Draco doesn’t dignify that with a response. He’s not going to argue with Harry about his sexuality. “Did you want anything in particular, Harry?”

“You really expect me to believe that you just  _ happen _ to be here because you’re doing  _ Astoria Greengrass _ a favour?”

“As that’s the  _ truth, _ yes, I do. And how do you know – what was his name? Neville?” Honestly, what an old-fashioned name!

“I’ve known him my whole life. My dad and his mum work together.”

Oh. Oh no. Draco feels what little colour there was in his face drain. “Your – your dad?”

James Potter has never liked him, and to be fair, Draco’s never liked James Potter. James Potter is the barrister who helped put his father in prison, and while Draco certainly knows his father  _ deserved _ it, and that his life is much less stressful and much more authentic without his father in it, it’s still not a fact he can just take sitting down.

Well, that, and he’s fairly certain James Potter thinks he’s just a miniature version of his father, which might be funny if it weren’t so outright insulting.

Harry rolls his eyes. “He’s talking to the Longbottoms, and I doubt he’s even noticed you. Everyone knows Astoria’s a – what? Duchess? It’s no surprise she’s got some rich twat for a date.”

Draco scoffs. “Hardly. Her father’s a baron, so she doesn’t have a title. And the daughter of a duke is a lady, not a duchess. A duchess is a duke’s wife.”

“Pardon me for not knowing the ins and outs of noble rankings.”

“Your godfather’s an earl; shouldn’t you know that much?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You think I know anything about that bollocks?”

“I think you’d like to pretend as if you were working class so you’re temporarily spared the painful reality of acknowledging the immense privilege you hold as the only son of a wealthy barrister and a doctor – especially considering that your father was born into that wealth. He met Sirius at Eton, for Christ’s sake.”

“And what in that means that I actually give a shit about what the daughter of a baron is called? Or who’s a baron?”

Draco, to his great credit, does not drag a hand down his face, nor does he scream. Instead, he buries those impulses deep down inside and changes the subject. “So you’ve known Neville your entire life?”

“Course I have,” Harry says. “I’m sure you’ve met him before.”

Draco thinks back to the taller, darker of the grooms. Tries to remember his face, and place him with Harry. Suddenly, it comes to him. “He used to be fat. I mean, fatter.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “And I was skinnier. Yes.”

“And how did he meet Astoria’s friend?”

“They went to uni together. You should hear him tell the story. It’s really  _ quite _ romantic.”

“Didn’t figure you for one to like romantic stories,” Draco says.

“Only the good ones.”

Draco feels as if this is some sort of barb toward him, but he does his best not to bristle. They are, after all, in public, and he and Harry have a habit of making scenes. Normally, Draco might not care, but he does  _ not _ want to embarrass Astoria.

“Did you want anything, Harry?”

Harry looks as if he’s about to argue, but then he looks over Draco’s shoulder and frowns. “No. Nothing. You can go back to Astoria now.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Harry snorts. “Give me  _ some _ credit, Draco. I’m not about to cause a scene at one of my best friends’ weddings.”

And then he’s gone. 

Draco goes back to Astoria, where he slides easily back into the conversation. When she asks him without even needing to ask what the whole business with Harry was about, he shrugs inelegantly.

He’s really just glad that Harry didn’t cause a scene. That would have been humiliating.

Of course, that’s when he realises just who’s joined Astoria’s conversation while Harry was annoying him: Justin Finch-Fletchley, who gives him a stunning smile.

Well, then.

* * *

The party is winding down and most people are leaving before Harry finds him again. He doesn’t seem drunk, which Draco counts as a point in his favour, though he does insist on interrupting his conversation with Justin.

“We should split a cab,” Harry says. 

Straight to business, then. He wishes he could say he’s surprised.

“Astoria’s got a driver,” Draco says.

“Though you’re quite welcome to join us, Harry,” Astoria says. “I’ll be dropping Draco off at your flat regardless. Might as well take you at the same time.”

Draco could just die on the spot. He knows Astoria has something up her sleeve, that this isn’t just simple kindness from her (though she is kinder than most people Draco knows).

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Harry says.

“It’s no trouble at all. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

“Of course,” Draco says. As if he’s in any place to protest. He knows Astoria too well to think she’d let him get away with protesting.

Astoria smiles. “Brilliant. I’ll just say goodbye to Anthony and call my driver, then, shall I?”

“All right,” Draco agrees. He turns back to Justin. “So…”

“So…” Justin says. 

“It’s been lovely to see you again.”

“You, as well.” Justin clasps Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll call you, all right?”

Draco smiles; he doesn’t even have to force it. “Yeah.”

Justin leans in and kisses his cheek. “It really was lovely to see you.”

* * *

Harry doesn’t say anything on the ride home, besides thanking Astoria for the ride and assuring them both that he could have managed a cab.

He, fortunately, remembers to take his shoes off when they get into the flat.

“Draco, wait.”

What choice does he have? He turns to face Harry. “Yes?”

“I know you haven’t said anything about, er, our… discussion a few weeks ago….”

Discussion? Is Harry seriously calling snogging him, grabbing him through his trousers, and then offering to shag him a “discussion”? Draco tries to keep his face impassive. “What about it?”

“I just, er, wanted to let you know I’m still game if you are.”

“I don’t recall ever  _ agreeing _ to that suggestion.”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Your cock seemed interested.”

“As groundbreaking as this may seem to you, my body’s physical reactions have no bearing on whether or not something is a good idea. I try  _ not _ to let my cock do the thinking for me, and it’s worked thus far.”

Harry grins. “So you admit you were turned on.”

Draco rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I don’t have to admit anything to you.”

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “But I was serious. I can’t say I haven’t thought about shagging you.”

“Is this all because you’ve just seen me talk to my ex?” Draco asks. “You can’t  _ possibly _ be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. But you’ve not said anything about, er, that, and – I want to make sure we’re clear.”

Draco knows the smart thing to do is to go back to his room. Maybe have a shameful wank about it, but to walk away and pretend as if Harry’s words aren’t getting to him.

He’s not drunk. He’s not high. He has no actual excuse to fall back on.

But still he says, “All right. Fuck it. Now?”

The look on Harry’s face is priceless. “Now?”

“Unless you’re scared.”

Harry scoffs. “You wish.”

He’s not sure who steps forward – maybe they both do – or who makes the first move, but then they’re kissing and stumbling into Harry’s room and pulling at clothes, and holy fucking shit, this is happening. They undress each other hungrily, and Draco doesn’t even give a thought to the fact that his suit is going to be a wrinkled mess on the floor, because Harry Potter is kissing him and pulling off his clothes and –  _ fuck, _ sliding his hand down his pants and taking him in his hand and he is  _ completely _ fucking sober.

They’re still kissing, and it’s messy and sweaty and sloppy and it’s taking far too much effort not to come too early, especially now that Harry’s pulling on his hair, and  _ fuck. _

Harry doesn’t seem surprised when Draco comes (far too early), and instead strips them both down the rest of the way.

And then Harry Potter is naked and sweaty and hard in front of him.

Draco wants little more than to suck him off, but he stops himself. “Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“You, er, you’ve been… tested?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Tested last month, negative, and on PrEP. And I assume you are as well.”

“I – yeah, I am.”

“If you’d rather stick with hand jobs for now, that’s fine by me. Or blow me with a condom. I don’t really mind either way.”

He knows the smart thing to do would be to have safe sex. Listen to Harry and stick with hand jobs or use condoms.

“You don’t mind if I don’t?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah.”

So he doesn’t. He sucks Harry off without a condom, and it’s somehow  _ better _ than he thought it would be. And then Harry asks him to fuck him, and who is he to refuse?

He’s still careful, though. He’s aware of what a monumentally stupid decision this is, and he’s determined not to make it any worse. So, once he’s fucked Harry, which is everything he’s ever hoped it would be, he makes his excuses, gets a shower, and goes to sleep in his own bed.

It’s better this way.

Really.

Now he has all night to wonder how much he’s just fucked up his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was: "Draco and Harry both attend a wedding reception. If they didn't plan to go together, perhaps they leave together. If they do attend together, perhaps it reminds them of a milestone in their own relationship or of their own wedding."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is also based on a prompt!

Draco’s not entirely sure why he’s agreed to this.

He’s really not interested in  _ dating _ Justin. Not again, and certainly not properly. He knows if he were, it’d be different now. They’re both out, for one. And they’re no longer sixteen.

That, really, changes everything.

But thinking on it, he’s not sure what he and Justin ever really had in common besides being wealthy, closeted, and stuck at a posh public school. (All right; from what Draco remembers, Justin’s father isn’t in the running for Father of the Year, either, but that’s hardly uncommon at public school).

At the very least, this will be something to get Harry out of his mind for a while.

He doesn’t really think Justin expects much to come of this, either.

He has a feeling that Justin’s wondered – much like Draco himself has – what might have been different if they  _ hadn’t _ been closeted and had to keep their entire relationship a secret.

Justin’s probably more optimistic about it than Draco.

He doesn’t tell Harry what he’s doing. 

It’s none of Harry’s business.

They’re flatmates who’ve shagged once. That’s it. They’re not boyfriends. They’re not even friends.

Harry wouldn’t tell him if  _ he _ were going on a date, so why should Draco?

* * *

He meets Justin outside the restaurant, and he has to admit that Justin looks good. He’s clean-shaven, handsome, and he’s wearing a suit that cost more than Draco makes in a month. Draco knows that for a fact; he was raised to know an expensive suit from a cheap one.

Draco really wouldn’t expect any less.

Justin sees him and pulls him in for a quick hug. “Draco! It’s so great to see you!”

“It’s great to see you, too.” It really is. He’s not sure how this night will end, but it has been a  _ long _ time since he’s gone on a date, let alone in a place as nice as this.

So that’s something he’ll get out of this: a free meal.

Besides, if he goes through with this date with Justin, he won’t have to wonder about what could have been.

They get inside, and Justin gives his name to the maître d’. 

The restaurant looks, Draco is certain,  _ deceptively _ informal. It might have been years since he’s seen Justin, but he knows Justin too well (and knows that  _ suit _ too well) to not research any restaurants Justin suggested for their date. He knows for a fact that this restaurant has two Michelin stars. He’s looked at the menu online.

He knows well enough by now to know that classy does not necessarily mean stuffy.

He doesn’t think he could stand a more formal atmosphere tonight.

The maître d’ seats them by a window, and Draco has to admit that he’s impressed. When he says as much to Justin, he smiles.

“Good. Didn’t think you’d want somewhere properly formal. Perhaps back at school, but now…”

“What about now?” Draco asks. His question, mercifully, doesn’t come out too bitchy.

“I’ve been assured that you’ve grown up to be the sort of man who appreciates  _ quality _ over  _ flashiness.” _

“And don’t we both know how my father would be appalled?”

Justin laughs. He has a nice laugh. Draco thinks if he weren’t hopelessly in love with someone else – and if he weren’t so  _ terribly _ disconnected from the world that he and Justin once shared, and which Justin still inhabits – he might be able to genuinely make something of this.

“My father’s still not come round, either.”

That doesn’t surprise Draco. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m fairly certain it’s a rule: if you’re posh and queer, at least  _ one _ of your parents refuses to accept reality.”

“Might well be,” Draco agrees. 

“Though I’d rather talk of more pleasant things.”

“Such as?” Draco can’t think that discussing his own life would be any more pleasant than discussing his and Justin’s fathers.

“Well, I’d no idea that you were still so close with Astoria Greengrass.”

Draco nods. “She’s one of the few people who never isolated me after my father destroyed our lives.”

“She’s a good person.”

“Did you go to university with her?” he asks. After all, uni was where Astoria met Anthony.

“I did, though we weren’t particularly close. We were in the same general social group – my parents disapproved, of course. She was the only one of an appropriate status, so, naturally, I tried my best not to get close to her.”

“Purely because your parents would have preferred her over your other friends?”

“That, and I knew her to be  _ your _ friend, and that was a bit of a fresh wound at the time.”

“You can’t convince me that our dynamic at school was ever very healthy.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Justin says easily. “Not at all. But at eighteen – I was still quite heartbroken. Eventually, I came out, got a proper – public – boyfriend; I had a wonderful circle of friends who all loved and accepted me, and I didn’t come out to my parents until after they’d paid for my degree.”

“Smart,” Draco says. “My godfather stepped in to pay for the rest of  _ my _ degree after – well, everything.”

“I  _ am _ sorry I didn’t reach out.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t long after we’d broken up, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to hear from anyone from that world.”

“Well… if nothing else, I could have assured you that I disliked your father before it became fashionable.”

Draco laughs in spite of himself. “Oh, I’d no doubt about that.”

The server comes out and presents them with their first course. 

“By the way, it’s my treat,” Justin says. Draco expects him to pay, of course, but the reassurance does set him a bit at ease. “I asked you out, and I picked the restaurant, so it’s only fair.”

Draco is not too proud to refuse Justin’s offer. He knows Justin has more money than he does, and he doesn’t particularly  _ want _ to spend several hundred pounds on dinner. So he says, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Justin says.

“What’re you actually  _ doing _ now?” Draco asks. He realises with a start that he really doesn’t know all that much about Justin, despite their relationship being the longest one he’s ever had.

“Oh, you mean with my career?”

“Yes.”

Justin squirms a bit in his seat. “I’m, er, a political advisor.”

“For which party?”

“Labour.”

Draco actually laughs out loud. “I’m sure your parents love that.”

“They hate it. I mean, I’m not convinced I’ll stay in politics forever, but – we can be quite honest that my parents are dedicated Tories. It’s all quite a shitshow now, of course, but…”

“When is politics ever  _ not _ a shitshow?”

Justin laughs. “That’s true. But I think in recent years… it’s all sort of gotten worse. At the same time, I couldn’t stand idly by while everyone I’ve known my whole life works hard to dismantle the remaining safety nets in place for the most vulnerable – I’m only a wealthy white man by chance. I’ve done nothing to deserve being born into the position I was.”

In spite of himself, Draco feels a rush of affection for Justin. “I see.”

“And besides all that, it’s hardly as if the Tories have the best track record for LGBT rights.”

Draco scoffs. “I should say not.”

“So what choice did I have? I’m aware many vulnerable people are able to campaign on their own behalfs, but shouldn’t I also put my skills and privilege to use to help them as much as I can?”

“It’s hardly as if gay men aren’t still oppressed,” Draco says.

“Definitely not, but at the same time – I’m still white and wealthy and educated, and that does a lot to sort of… make up for that in a lot of circles.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Draco says. 

“It’s not a competition. But I want to help people who aren’t as privileged as I am, and I can’t quite donate all my money to charity until I’ve actually got the money to myself. Besides – effective political change has the ability to do more good than simple charity.”

“That’s very true.” 

“So what have you been up to?” 

Oh. That. “Nothing nearly so impressive. I’ve mostly been trying to sort out what to do with my life.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Justin says. “I know loads of people who are still sorting that out, and at least you’re not burning through your parents’ money while you do it.”

“I think that’s primarily because my parents don’t  _ have _ that sort of money anymore.”

“Your godfather does, though.”

“That’s different. He’s not my father. My life would have certainly been easier if he  _ had _ actually adopted me as an infant, but – he’s not my father. I’m not going to live off of his money.”

“I actually respect that. You’ve actually got a functioning moral compass.”

“Which would absolutely shock and horrify anyone who remembers me at fifteen.”

Justin laughs. “People change. Besides – between you and me, I think most people we went to school with need to be forced to learn what it means to work – though I  _ am _ including myself in that.”

“Is that what Labour’s aiming for now? Make every posh person know the meaning of a hard day’s work?”

“Maybe it is.”

He likes Justin. 

In fact, he likes Justin now more than he remembers ever liking Justin before – and far more than he expected to like him still.

He’s handsome, intelligent, kind, wealthy, willing to work hard, and he has a nice laugh.

By all means, he should be smitten.

But he’s not.

Because he’s still caught up in Harry.

The worst part is that he doesn’t even think things would be that different if he  _ hadn’t _ slept with Harry.

He knows Justin can tell by dessert.

“I sincerely hope it’s not Astoria you’re caught up on.”

Draco hesitates. He knows he can lie, but what purpose would that serve? A younger version of himself might have used Justin to his advantage – either to try to make Harry jealous or to get over him – but Draco can’t do that now.

“It’s not.”

“Good, because I’m quite certain she’s head over heels for Pansy and there’s no coming back from that.”

“There’s a chance in an alternate universe, were Astoria and I  _ not _ childhood friends and were I fully expected to marry a woman with no other real alternative, that I might be interested in her, but – no. It’s not Astoria.”

“Do you mind if I ask who it is?”

He realises he doesn’t mind. “Do you know Harry? He was at the wedding.”

Justin hums. “Yeah. I know Harry. And – I understand.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. He’s gorgeous.”

“It’s not just that he’s gorgeous…”

“Oh, I know. It’s his whole… thing. I get it. I think Neville sort of had a thing for Harry when they were younger, too. But I do hope – genuinely – that this doesn’t mean that we won’t see each other for another decade.”

“You mean you’d be… fine to just be friends?”

“Sure,” Justin says. “It’s not as if I really  _ expected _ this to end up any other way. We haven’t seen each other in eight years, and I wanted to catch up.”

“Oh,” Draco says. Well, that makes a lot more sense than actually expecting anything to come out of this. Especially when it’s been so long.

“And seriously – good luck with Harry.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

Harry’s in the living room when he gets home. 

“I take it the date didn’t go well,” Harry says when he sees him.

Draco sits down on the sofa. He’s in a fairly good mood, and he doesn’t think talking to Harry will spoil it. “On the contrary.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “So why aren’t you sucking his cock right now?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t just do that?”

Harry snorts. “I guess.”

“Why do you even care?” Draco asks.

“I don’t care.”

It’s bad when even Draco can tell he’s lying. He can’t fathom why Harry seems to care so much that Draco might have slept with someone else, so for now, he’s just annoyed about it. “We’ve slept together  _ once. _ If you’re going to get jealous every time I so much as  _ look _ at someone else.”

“Going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant isn’t looking at someone else. And I’m not jealous.”

“It sounds like you’re jealous.” He tries not to think about what that might mean. After all, why would  _ Harry _ be jealous of  _ Justin? _

“I’m not jealous. I don’t care that you’ve sucked Justin Finch-Fletchley’s cock and abused the waitstaff.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I’ve not abused any waitstaff.”

“So you admit you’ve sucked his cock.”

“When we were teenagers, yeah. Not that it’s any of  _ your _ business.”

“You – what?” Harry frowns. “I never heard about that.”

“Justin and I dated for six months when we were in school together. We didn’t tell anyone apart from a few close friends, considering how homophobic not just our fathers but the majority of our classmates were.”

Harry crosses his arms. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Though I still don’t see why you  _ care.” _

“I don’t care,” Harry says.

“If you want me to fuck you again, you can just  _ ask.” _

He expects Harry to tell him to fuck off. He expects Harry to say he’ll never fuck him again. He even expects Harry to storm off.

He does not expect Harry to stand up, walk over, and kiss him. But that’s exactly what he does.

When Harry pulls away, he whispers, “I think  _ I _ want to fuck  _ you _ this time.”

And… really, how is Draco supposed to refuse him that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for this was "Date night"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets stuck babysitting Teddy.  
> Harry helps

For the record, Draco never would have volunteered for this. This was thrust upon him, and there was no way he could stop it.

It’s not that he doesn’t  _ like _ babies. He does, actually. He’s just not used to them. And when it’s not  _ your _ baby? That’s a lot of responsibility he’s not quite sure he’s ready for.

He was trying to find some way to politely turn Dora down (maybe she should ask his mother; he’s certain his mother would love to watch a baby for a few hours), when Harry interrupted and said, “Wait is Tonks looking for a babysitter?”

“Just for a few hours,” Draco said. “Unpaid.” He hoped that would be enough to sway Harry’s opinion.

“I’ll do it! Tell her I’ll do it!”

Draco tried to hold the phone away from Harry, but Dora seemed to hear him anyway. She was delighted with the idea. 

And now…

Now he’s stuck babysitting his cousin’s newborn baby while she and her wife have a much-needed date night.

It’s not that he begrudges his cousin her date night. She deserves it. Especially since it’s been a long time since she and her wife have had a night to themselves with  _ both _ of them able to enjoy sushi and a few glasses of wine.

He’s just not sure what he’s meant to do with a one month old baby.

He’s met Teddy before, of course, and even held him and cuddled him, and, in one harrowing instance, changed his nappy. But that, really is the sum of his expertise.

Dora dropped off enough supplies to build a new nursery, which Draco rather thinks is overkill, but then he really doesn’t have much experience handling a baby, so he wasn’t about to argue. 

He knows Harry does a pretty substantial amount of babysitting, but as that’s all paid, he doesn’t anticipate him sticking around to help watch Teddy. Teddy’s not  _ his _ cousin’s baby, after all. He’s no one to Harry, really, and add onto that that he’s not getting any money out of this, Draco can’t fathom that Harry wants anything to do with him.

But no. When Draco turns around, Harry is leaning over Teddy’s carrier and talking to him.

Baby talk. Harry is actually engaging in baby talk; Draco can’t sort out the nonsensical gibberish, and he sincerely doubts that Teddy can, either.

Draco isn’t soft enough to be affected by this. He isn’t.

(He is. This is far too much to cope with; he knew this was a terrible idea when Dora proposed it. Why had he not  _ insisted _ that she ask his mother?)

“Don’t you have work to do?” Draco asks, though it comes out far bitchier than he intends.

Harry, though, seems unfazed. “Nah. Not until later tonight. Besides, I love babies.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “And Teddy’s  _ adorable. _ Yes he is; look at that face! Besides, you can’t expect me to believe that you know how to change a nappy.”

“Of course I do,” Draco says. Though, realistically, he knows that only having done it once makes him far from an expert. Harry is probably better at it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is your cousin Draco lying, Teddy?”

“I’m not lying,” Draco says, as if a one month old baby understands what either of them are saying.

“You know babies are actually quite boring, don’t you? At least at this age. All they do is sleep and eat and poop. They’re still adorable, but they don’t actually get  _ fun _ until they’re a bit older.”

“Funnily enough, I didn’t expect this to be the most exciting evening of my life. I’m doing a favour for my cousin.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you say.” He looks at Teddy in his carrier. “He’s about to fall back asleep, anyway. I can keep an eye on him while you get your laptop if you want to do some work.”

He doesn’t want Harry to have anything to do with this, but he realises he no longer has a choice in  _ that _ particular matter. “Fine.”

He takes his time getting his laptop, as if watching an adorable baby is some sort of punishment for Harry, when he knows perfectly well that Harry actually  _ likes _ dealing with babies. And that Harry’s willingly inserted himself in this situation when he was neither needed nor particularly wanted. And, well, even Draco has to admit that Teddy is adorable, unimpressed with babies as he usually is.

When he gets back into the sitting room, Harry is sitting quietly next to Teddy’s carrier. Harry puts his finger to his lips when he sees Draco, and mouths  _ he’s asleep. _

Brilliant. It might be the quietest he’ll ever get Harry to be. He settles in on the loveseat with his laptop and starts to work on some of his freelance projects.

He knows, really, he should put his degree to use and find a proper job. Perhaps he might have to change his name, given his father, but that would be a small price to pay. His mother wouldn’t mind if he used her maiden name, and then – well, he’d still likely get invasive questions, but more about his godfather and less about his father.

And he’d rather answer questions about being Regulus Black’s godson and first cousin once removed than questions about being Lucius Malfoy’s son. Especially since Black isn’t a totally uncommon name. Unlike Malfoy.

His father couldn’t have had a common surname, knowing he was going to do what he did. (But then, Draco knows, his father never believed he’d be caught.)

It’s actually pleasant to sit in the room with Harry (who appears to be occupying himself quietly with his phone for once) and Teddy (who Draco assumes is sleeping), and he gets more work done than he’d thought possible before Teddy starts fussing again.

Before he can so much as save his work, Harry’s already jumped up, insisting he can handle it.

“He is  _ my _ cousin, you know. Dora asked  _ me _ to watch him.” He can’t help but be a bit petulant, unflattering though he knows it is.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He doesn’t ask if Harry means chores or sex. He doesn’t particularly care at the moment. “That’s beside the point.”

Harry already has Teddy in his arms, fussing over him. 

Draco’s not stupid. He’s always been rather certain he wants children of his own, once he finds someone who – well, someone who wouldn’t perpetuate the mistreatment he’d endured himself. (Or his parents before him, for that matter). And that part’s been much easier said than done.

He’s aware, as he watches Harry fuss over a baby who  _ is _ related to him (though Draco’s not sure if it’s distant enough for that to matter at all), that some of his resolve softens.

The thing is – and he reminds himself of this presently – Harry doesn’t like him. Harry doesn’t want to be with him. Harry only has sex with him as a form of stress relief – or, in Harry’s own words, so they don’t murder each other. 

They aren’t boyfriends. They aren’t friends. Harry doesn’t enjoy spending time with him. Harry actively seems to avoid him, if he’s not trying to snog him or fuck him. Draco’s still not sure that Harry didn’t drag him to that lesbian bar with the intent of fucking him.

He can cope with that.

It just makes it much more difficult to watch Harry taking care of Teddy.

“Did Tonks leave any milk?”

Harry’s words bring Draco back to himself. “Yes. Sorry. Yes, she did. She put it in the fridge, shall I…?”

“Have you heated up milk before?”

“No, but Dora told me what to do.” Again: his words come out bitchier than he intends. He can’t help it; Harry just brings out the bitchiest parts of him.

And then Harry is right in front of him and handing Teddy off to him. “You take him, and I’ll warm up the bottle, all right?”

What can Draco do but take Teddy and say, “All right”?

Harry, apparently appeased, goes out to the kitchen, leaving Draco alone with Teddy. Draco, at the very least, knows the proper way to hold a newborn, and as he cradles Teddy, he’s struck all at once by the frailty of the tiny creature in his arms.

And with it, the realisation that he’s going to be a horrible horrible father. 

He can’t even babysit without his flatmate, who doesn’t even  _ like _ him, coming in and taking over. He’s that useless. God forbid he end up marrying a man (quite likely, by his estimation, but one can never be sure) and they adopt an infant, because –

Because babies are terrifying. And he doesn’t know what to do with one. What’s worse: this is just for a few hours!

“Christ, you look petrified,” Harry says. “I was going to ask if you want to feed him.”

“I– no, I can feed him,” Draco says, shaking himself out of his trance. It’s just for a few hours. It’s not overnight. Harry’s here. They’ll be fine. Teddy will be fine.

He takes the bottle from Harry, feeds Teddy, and then, taking a burp cloth from the baby bag, burps him. This much, he can do.

“Babies are pretty boring at this stage, really,” Harry says. “Cute, but boring.”

Draco cradles Teddy in his arms. “It doesn’t terrify you how vulnerable they are?”

“Of course it does. But humans have been having babies as long as there’s been humans to have babies.”

Draco doesn’t bring up infant mortality rates, which he’s fairly certain are higher among humans than other animals. Though, certainly, lower in recent years than throughout human history. That still doesn’t do much to bolster his own confidence.

“It gets easier with practise,” Harry says. “And then they get a little older, and you can properly play with them, and you’ve got a few years before they become insufferable.”

“Insufferable?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you never finished your teacher training?”

Harry frowns. “How’d you know I was in teacher training? That was well before I met Luna.”

Draco half shrugs, careful not to disturb Teddy too much. Part of him can’t quite believe that he knows something about Harry that Luna doesn’t. “Sirius mentioned.”

“That’s not why. I mean, yeah, high school kids are  _ absolutely _ insufferable, and their parents are somehow even worse, but – it’s quite stressful, the pay’s shit, and… I was making more money and having more fun as a bartender. It’s not quite worked out as planned, but what ever does?”

Nothing in Draco’s life, that’s for certain. “I suppose.”

“Listen. Neville – from the wedding, remember?”

“I remember.” He’s not likely to forget the shock of running into Harry at a wedding anytime soon.

“Neville’s a teacher. And he loves it. And his husband’s a physician – primary care, not anything fancy – and they’re quite happy, but talking to them, it’s impossible to deny that Neville has the more stressful job of the two. And he gets paid shit for it. Anthony makes nearly twice what he does. They both love what they do, but – I dunno. It seems like a lot of stress, and the wage in London is barely liveable.”

“I suppose,” Draco says. “But you work with kids anyway. And you like it. Besides – you wouldn’t necessarily  _ have _ to teach high school.”

“You think I should teach primary school?”

“I think you like working with children, and, at the risk of fluffing your ego, you’re quite good at it.”

“Oh,” Harry says. It’s not often that Harry’s at a loss for words, but Draco seems to have done the impossible.

“And everyone knows comparing yourself to your friends is the easiest way to feel miserable and unaccomplished. Luna’s getting pieces in galleries and she’s happily committed to Rolf – though I can’t claim to fully understand that whole dynamic. Astoria’s engaged, and she spends her time working for charities. By comparison, I’m unattached and underemployed.”

“I’m sure you could do charity work, though,” Harry says. “Regulus could set you up easily enough with that.”

“I’m not asking Regulus to  _ set me up _ with anything.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know your dad’s in prison for corruption and shit, but accepting help from people who want to help you isn’t corruption. Not by a long shot. You haven’t got to work in charity if you don’t want to, but – I doubt this is what you want to do, either. And I’m not saying you need to go for it now, or even know what it is you want, but… Regulus  _ loves _ you, and so does Astoria, for that matter, I’m sure, and they’d be happy to help you if they can. I don’t ask for handouts, either, but there’s a difference between handouts and  _ help.” _

This is, quite possibly, the nicest Harry’s ever been to him whilst either sober and fully clothed, let alone both, and Draco isn’t sure how to react. “Do you, er, want to hold Teddy?”

“All right.”

So Draco hands Teddy over to Harry, who lights up as he cradles him.

And yes, something about the softness with which Harry handles Teddy does make Draco’s heart ache uncomfortably, but he is  _ quite _ aware that Harry Potter doesn’t want him like that. Just because he is, for some unfathomable reason, being kind at the moment does not mean that Harry actually  _ likes _ him.

Especially when Harry’s spent the past twenty-six years telling Draco how much he hates him.

“You know, it really is  _ brilliant _ to be living right now,” Harry says

“What do you mean?” Draco asks. He doesn’t think Harry is talking about merely being  _ alive. _

“I mean my childhood friend’s just married another man, publicly, and a rabbi actually  _ ordained _ their wedding, in the middle of London, and – and your cousin’s married another woman and they have a baby together, and by and large, we’ve accepted that as  _ normal.” _

He’s not quite sure what Harry means by that. “Because it  _ is _ normal. I know for a fact you’re attracted to men, and –”

“Yeah, I’m bi, but it’s like… I’m glad I’m living  _ now, _ and not twenty years ago, you know?”

Oh. That makes more sense, then. Still, because there’s something pathologically wrong with him, Draco says, “I think the Netherlands had gay marriage twenty years ago.”

“Yeah, and then you’d come back home to Britain and shit would be worse than it is now. I’m not saying homophobia is over, because it obviously isn’t, but – I’d just rather be bi now than bi a hundred years ago.”

“If you were bi a hundred years ago, you’d probably marry a perfectly nice woman and have an illicit affair with your gardener.”

Harry snorts. “Exactly. And now I can – I dunno, marry a man if I want to. Without having to have a secret affair.”

“You… think you could marry a man?”

“Yeah? Why not? I’m totally comfortable in my sexuality, and my parents are totally accepting.”

“My father still doesn’t know.”

“Well, your father’s a prick in just about every way a person can  _ be _ a prick, so I don’t think that’s all that surprising.”

“Thanks,” Draco says dryly. He knows Harry’s right, of course. His father  _ is _ awful. Beyond all the crime, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t even a halfway decent father. He knows Harry knows it, too.

“Listen, as much of a prick as you can be – you know you’re nothing like him, right? You’re more like your mum or Regulus than him, y’know, just pretentious and haughty and sure of yourself and vaguely disconnected from reality.”

Draco tries not to look as offended as he feels, though this time he  _ does _ know how bitchy he’s being when he says, “At least I’m not pretending to be working class.”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Piss off.”

Draco rolls his eyes and is about to go back to his work when Harry speaks again.

“We’re not doomed to be as shitty parents as  _ our _ parents, you know that?”

Draco doesn’t look up. He doesn’t trust himself to. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your mother was better than her parents, right? I mean, you actually love her, and Sirius has told me  _ plenty _ about that side of the family to know that’s a  _ huge _ step up. And Tonks’s mum is all right, and you just need to… pay attention to what you’re doing. Realise your kids are people. And maybe go to therapy.”

“If Regulus asked you –”

Harry cuts him off. “Regulus didn’t say anything. I don’t really talk to him. Sirius didn’t say anything, either, for that matter. I just know enough people with shit parents to know that therapy’s not a bad idea. I mean, I’ve gone to therapy since I was seven.”

That surprises him enough to look up. “What?”

Harry shrugs, face impassive. “My parents thought it was the best way to help me cope with their divorce. And I mean, my dad can be a prick sometimes, sure, but – I wouldn’t call him a shit dad, and not to be a Jewish stereotype, but my mum is  _ lovely.” _

Draco, having met Harry’s mother on a few occasions, is inclined to agree with that.

“I’m not saying you need to do anything, but the whole stiff upper lip thing is bollocks; it only perpetuates harmful behaviours. If you’re really concerned about perpetuating what your dad did to you, therapy might not be the worst idea in the world.”

He knows Harry has a point, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. Not to Harry directly, anyway. “I hardly see what that has to do with Teddy.”

Harry, fortunately, seems to take this for the correct signal that their conversation is over. Either that, or Teddy’s fallen asleep again and Harry doesn’t want to wake him.

Draco uses the peace and quiet to turn back to his work.

And if he pulls up UCL’s website for their art history program, well, he’s certain Regulus would offer to pay for Draco to pursue a degree in something he actually  _ cares _ about. (Not to mention: he’s fairly certain the art history world doesn’t all know about his dad like the business world does.)

* * *

Dora comes by a few hours later to pick up Teddy. After greeting her and her wife, Harry excuses himself to get ready for work. Apparently he was serious about that. 

“Hey, Dora,” Draco says, as if this is just an off-the-cuff question and not something he’s ruminated over for hours.

“Yeah?”

“How did you know… with everything in our family, how did you know you’d be a good mum? Or rather, that having children was a good idea?”

“I didn’t,” Dora says. “I still don’t. It’s bloody terrifying.”

“She’s a wonderful mum,” Dora’s wife, Penny says. “But – yeah; she’s right. It’s terrifying. No matter how much you do to prepare for it.”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” Dora says. “And our parents help a lot. And you – don’t think we won’t ask you and Harry to babysit again.”

“Me and Harry?” Why would she ask Harry to help babysit? He’s not  _ admitted _ that Harry did most of the work, and he doesn’t think Dora should be able to tell that easily.

Dora gives him a look he doesn’t like. “I know his dad’s James Potter, but we both quite like Harry.”

“And the important thing is that you’re happy.”

Wait a minute. Do Dora and Penny actually think he’s  _ dating _ Harry? The very idea is ridiculous. While Draco’s quite certain he’s transparent, Harry clearly isn’t interested in him at all in that way. Even if they have sex sometimes. Harry doesn’t even  _ like _ him, much less want to date him.

“I’m sorry, what? No; Harry and I aren’t – no. No.”

“No?” Penny asks. She seems genuinely surprised. Draco has no idea why.

“No. We’re just – we’re only flatmates.”

“Oh,” Penny says. “Never mind, then.”

He wants to ask them both for more detail, but Harry’s just in his room, and that seems like a terrible, terrible idea. 

“Teddy’s adorable. And I’d be happy to watch him again any time. I can’t speak for Harry, of course.”

“Of course,” Penny says.

“We’ll definitely take you up on that offer,” Tonks says. “Thanks again for coming through like this.”

He assures her that it wasn’t a problem, and he helps both of them pack up and make sure Teddy is securely in his carrier. As he sees them to the door, Harry peeks out of his bedroom. “Oh, let me say goodbye to Teddy!”

Tonks and Penny seem flattered by this offer, and Draco really just wants to go to bed. But what choice does he have but to watch the man he’s in love with coo over an adorable baby before seeing his cousin and her wife out the door?

“I’m just about to head out, so don’t lock up,” Harry says once Tonks and Penny leave with Teddy.

“All right.”

“Hey, er. I had a good time today. So if you babysit Teddy again, let me know. And, er, if you want to – if you’re up when I get home and you wanna shag, or whatever, I’d be up for that.”

“I’ll let you know,” Draco says. Whether he’s talking about babysitting Teddy or fucking Harry, even he doesn’t know.

He does know he’s exhausted, so as soon as Harry leaves, he makes sure the door is bolted behind him, puts his laptop away, and crawls into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for the prompt: "Drarry + a newborn baby in the house."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco hates his job. Harry has a surprise waiting for him at home.

Draco hates his job.

Well, he hates his valet job. His various freelance jobs are all right, really.

When he’d first gotten it, he’d thought it would be really cool. He’d get to drive the sorts of cars he’d always thought he’d end up driving (before his father had thrown everything away, anyway), and it really didn’t seem like a difficult job, at all.

He hadn’t realised just how much he hates rich people.

He used to want to go back to that life, when he was younger. He supposes even now he wouldn’t say no to the guaranteed financial security, but… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he  _ can _ go back to that life. Can’t slot back in seamlessly as if nothing had ever happened. 

Too much has happened, and he’s seen far too much of the dark underbelly of the elite (and how the elite treat service workers they don’t seem to fully register as human) to want to go back.

So now he settles for resentment.

He’s in a bad mood as he trudges back in the rain (of  _ course _ he forgot his umbrella) from the tube station. He lives in London; how did he forget his umbrella?

He takes his shoes off and checks his (waterproof, thank god) watch when he gets in. It’s not too late yet, and he hears the telly in the sitting room. Harry must be in there; he doesn’t pay it much mind.

Sure, they’re flatmates who shag, and he could use a good blow job right now, but more than anything, he’s wet and cold and miserable. He needs a shower.

He doesn’t bother going to his room first. He leaves his wet clothes on the bathroom floor and turns the hot water on.

If nothing else, at least his godfather agreed to let him this flat. He can’t imagine having to live in a flat that is  _ actually _ in his price range on top of everything else.

The entire bathroom is hot and steamy within minutes. For a moment, when he steps into the shower, he just stands there. He lets the hot water warm him up before starting to wash up.

Harry is long used to Draco’s supposedly “extravagantly” long showers, so Draco isn’t terribly surprised when, after a while, he hears the door open and Harry say, “Figured you’d be in here.”

“Lost my umbrella.”

“It’s in the rack,” Harry says. Of course it was.

“Shut the door; you’re letting out all the steam.”

He can hear Harry chuckle and the door latch. “Bad day?”

“Am I meant to answer that?”

He doesn’t look over, but he can hear Harry undressing. “I’ve only got a few minutes; think sucking you off would make you feel better?”

“Well,” Draco says petulantly, “I can’t imagine it’d make me feel worse.”

He hears Harry snort and turns only when Harry opens the shower door.

He’s completely, gloriously naked. He’s not even wearing his glasses. A part of Draco still can’t believe that this is his life. Not only does he  _ live _ with Harry Potter, but he gets to have sex with Harry Potter quite frequently. Of course, he can never let on that he has  _ feelings _ involved in this, or else the entire thing will blow up in his face, but he’s self-destructive enough to keep at it.

He doesn’t turn off the water as Harry gets on his knees in the shower.

“Wait,” he says.

Harry looks up at him. Draco feels his traitorous heart skip a beat. “What?”

“I’d rather wank each other off.”

Harry seems to think it over. “All right.”

He stands up and shuts the shower door. This stall was  _ really _ not made for two adult men, but Draco’s not about to complain about being so close to Harry. This is hardly the first time they’ve done this, but he still feels a thrill when Harry kisses him.

Harry Potter is, all things considered, quite an excellent kisser.

Draco buries one hand in Harry’s perfect, dark, curly, messy hair. He feels Harry start to wank him off, and quickly starts to return the favour. He still can’t quite believe that Harry’s completely willing to kiss him through all of this.

He and Harry both come rather quickly, and then Harry is rinsing off and getting out of the shower. “Want me to fuck you later?”

“Yes,” he says, and god, how does his voice sound so hoarse?

Harry grins and kisses his neck. “Better wash up then, yeah?”

And just like that, he dresses and he’s gone.

* * *

Draco feels much better when he steps out of the bathroom. He takes his dirty clothes to his room, where he puts on pants and pyjamas.

It’s not until he gets into the living room that he notices something is  _ very _ odd. 

Namely, that there is a small child on the sofa next to Harry.

A child Draco feels quite certain he’s never seen before.

“Erm… hello?”

“Hello! I’m Daisy!”

Draco looks from Daisy (apparently) to Harry. “What?”

“Oh,” Harry says. “My cousin Dudley’s daughter. I’m adopting her.”

This, Draco realises, is what panic must feel like. “You’re  _ adopting _ her?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Raising her to be a Nice Jewish Girl. We’re gonna watch  _ so _ much Friday Night Dinner.”

It’s not that Draco has ever really thought that anything would  _ happen _ between Harry and himself, but – but Harry’s  _ adopting _ a child? Without consulting him? Where is she going to sleep? How are they going to feed her? They’re both quite frequently, as Harry puts it, skint.

But one question nags at him more than the others. 

“How long has she been here?”

Harry checks his phone. “Big D dropped her off this morning before work. So… thirteen hours?”

Thirteen hours?

But that means —

“She’s going to sleep in my bed tonight. Don’t worry. I’ve changed the sheets.”

“So you just – you’re adopting a child and you’ve not thought to tell your flatmate?”

“Uncle Harry’s the best,” Daisy volunteers.

“Quite,” Draco says.

And then, unexpectedly, Harry starts to laugh.

This isn’t a chuckle; no, Harry is laughing like he’s just seen the most hilarious thing known to man. 

“Oh my  _ god, _ Christ, Draco, did you actually  _ believe _ me? I mean, I said last week that I was going to adopt  _ Teddy.” _

“Teddy is  _ my _ cousin’s son and I know for a fact  _ neither _ of his mothers are willing to surrender him, least of all to  _ you.” _

Harry stands up and actually walks Draco over to the sofa, wrapping an arm easily around his shoulders. “Unless you count adopting her as my  _ niece, _ I’m not  _ actually _ adopting Daisy.”

Draco feels a rush of relief. “Oh.”

“I mean, I would, if Big D would let me, and if I were financially stable. She’s a delight. But he won’t, and I’m not, so I can’t.”

“That really  _ is _ something you should run by your flatmate, first.”

“What, are you saying you  _ don’t _ want to share a bedroom with me?” Harry asks.

Draco can  _ feel _ himself blush, which is all the more mortifying. “Last I checked, we were flatmates, not boyfriends, and  _ certainly _ not husbands.”

They’re flatmates who shag quite frequently, though. More frequently than Draco thinks, even now, even Harry anticipated. Of course, he tries his best to keep feelings out of it, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when he’s been in love with Harry for  _ years. _

Harry rolls his eyes. “All right, I  _ promise _ you, as long as we live together, I’ll discuss any  _ serious _ considerations of adoption with you before jumping right in.”

“We don’t have a spare room,” Draco says, as if that’s his only protest.

“We could convert the dining room,” Harry says. “It can’t be too hard to replace the arches with doors.”

Draco is aware of Harry’s arm still around his shoulders. He doesn’t move it.

Harry was right about one thing: all this shagging  _ has _ made them get on better as flatmates. Though, really, if you ask Draco, such a thing was always possible, even without shagging, if Harry had decided to get over whatever complex he had about him first.

“I think I will adopt, though, when I’m older. Even if I marry a woman, y’know?”

“I don’t think anyone would ever adopt a child out to me,” Draco says.

“Bolo– _ old _ assumption.” 

Harry really  _ isn’t _ very good at covering up his near curses. Draco doesn’t mind. “With  _ my _ father?”

“You’re not your father.”

“Tell that to the adoption agencies. I’m fairly certain background checks are common practise – any one on me would surely reveal far too much information about my father.”

“Yeah, and they’d also reveal that Regulus has always been more of a father to you than your  _ actual _ father. Daddy issues are hardly attractive, you know.”

“I’m not  _ trying _ to be attractive.”

Harry shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”

Draco is seized, in the moment, by a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss Harry. Just kiss him. Without the expectation of anything more.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Even if there weren’t a small child sitting on the sofa with them.

He’s not stupid enough to risk what peace he does have with Harry.

Instead, he asks, “So if you’re not adopting Daisy, what is she doing here?”

“Oh, I told you. Dudley’s on a business trip. I’m babysitting this weekend.”

Draco vaguely remembers something about that, but he’d assumed Harry would be going to wherever it was Dudley lived. He says as much to Harry, who shrugs. “This worked out better. I asked you if it was all right.”

“It’s fine,” Draco says. And he really  _ doesn’t _ mind, not really. 

“Even though it means I’ll be sleeping in your room?”

Oh. He was serious about that? “Must you?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean, I can sleep on the sofa. That’ll be fine. I want to give Daisy the bed for obvious reasons, so if it’s a problem…”

“It’s not,” Draco says before he can think better. “But you’d better not think you won’t make it up to me.”

“Oh,” Harry says easily. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept in your room before,” Harry says.

He hasn’t. Draco confirms as much out loud. He doesn’t say that it’s been that way by design.

He’s never slept in Harry’s room, either. Not since Harry moved in.

There were a few nights with Luna, where they’d stayed up late talking or drinking or painting in her room, and Draco had never minded falling asleep in her bed. Luna had never minded it, either. But that was different; even though he and Luna were both bi, he felt fairly confident saying that the only way they’d have ever slept together was to repopulate the earth. 

And even then…

But everything is different with Harry.

He can’t imagine sleeping next to Harry, but now… well, he really doesn’t have much of a choice, does he?

(Yes, of course, he could tell Harry to sleep on the sofa. He could sleep on the sofa himself, and give Harry the bed. But he won’t.)

“It’s nice,” Harry says. “Very you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He motions to the art prints on the wall. The signed  _ Twilight _ poster. The small shelf of trophies from football and debate and everything in between that Draco had done in public school. The curtains, the desk, the duvet cover.

“I think the only colour in here  _ besides _ the art and the poster is your rug.”

Draco shrugs. “I’ve never been very interested in bright decor.”

“Of course you haven’t. Even though I know for a fact you bought that duvet cover at IKEA.”

“Interestingly, going to public school doesn’t mean that you’ll never set foot in an IKEA.”

Harry laughs, and then he’s right in front of Draco. He doesn’t have time to think before Harry’s kissing him again, and tugging off his clothes.

Draco hardly thinks anyone could blame him for letting himself get a bit lost in the kiss. He tugs Harry’s pyjama bottoms and pants off, and takes Harry in his hand. It’s one of his favourite things to feel Harry get hard in his hand. When this all goes to hell – and Draco is quite certain this  _ will _ all go to hell – at least he’ll have the memory of how it feels to have Harry Potter get hard in his hand.

* * *

When Draco wakes up, Harry is laying on top of him.

Draco isn’t sure how, in a queen sized bed, Harry manages to be almost entirely on top of him, but he’s not complaining. At least not on the inside.

He can’t stop himself from reaching out to brush Harry’s hair out of his eyes. Harry stirs a bit – which makes Draco feel like he’s about to have a heart attack – but he doesn’t wake.

Sleeping in the same bed was definitely a mistake.

Before, Draco could rationalize it to himself. Sure, he’s made Harry come countless times. He could draw Harry’s O-face from memory. He knows exactly where to touch Harry – and  _ how _ – to turn him to putty in his hands.

But that’s not the same as waking up to see Harry Potter asleep in his bed.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry look so young. So calm.

People tend to look calm in their sleep.

This is an intimacy that Draco knows neither of them are ready for. He knows the smart thing to do would be to leave, to make breakfast, or something, anything to avoid being here when Harry wakes up.

He doesn’t do that. He stays put.

He pretends to be asleep. He knows there’s no falling back asleep, not after this, and a quick glance at his alarm clock reveals that it’s probably a bit too early for Harry to actually get up on his own (he hates that he knows what time Harry normally wakes up, even if that  _ is _ sort of a normal flatmate thing to know).

Harry is laying on top of him. Asleep. This is fine. This is all perfectly fine.

He tries not to think about the night before. The sex was normal – excellent, but, all things considered, normal. But afterward, Harry picked his side, picked up his phone, and snapchatted with at least one of his friends. Then, after a few minutes, he turned the light off and tried to fall asleep.

He was asleep before Draco was, and Draco was only too aware that Harry’s body was mere inches from his. Sure, they’d had sex, but that wasn’t this.

It took Draco  _ hours _ to fall asleep, and now this.

Just when he wonders how he’ll possibly manage to lie here, under Harry, for god knows how long, Harry starts to move. At first, Draco thinks it’s just Harry adjusting in his sleep, but then he hears Harry whisper a quiet, “Shit,” and feels Harry quickly – but not so quick as to wake him – move off of him.

He doesn’t feel Harry’s weight leave the bed, and he hears Harry’s breathing – less even now than it was – so he pretends to still be asleep.

“Shit, shit,  _ shit,” _ Harry says. He hears Harry tap furiously at his phone. He expects Harry to leave.

He doesn’t expect Harry to brush his hair out of his face, or for his touch to linger. Draco has to remind himself to continue to pretend to be asleep; it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Finally, he feels Harry get out of bed, hears him get dressed, hears him leave the room and shut the door.

He opens his eyes. Harry is gone, but that’s far from his biggest problem.

What the  _ fuck? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was: "Harry and/or Draco have decided to adopt Teddy or another child of a close relation."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with the aftermath

Draco lies in bed far longer than he should. Long enough that he thinks Harry  _ has _ to be suspicious.

What just  _ happened? _

He knows why  _ he _ was affected by this – Draco hasn’t been under any delusions that he  _ hasn’t _ been in love with Harry for nearly a decade now. But why did  _ Harry  _ care so much? Why did  _ Harry _ leave in a hurry, cursing the whole time?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Harry doesn’t like him.

It’s always been a fact of the universe. The sky is blue, the earth revolves around the sun, his father’s an arsehole, Harry doesn’t like him.

Harry likes having sex with him. Draco’s good in bed. (He might not be as arrogant as he once was, but he  _ knows _ he’s damn good in bed – with women as well as men – and he knows anyone he’s ever slept with would back him up on that if asked.)

And, until last night, Draco’s been very careful to leave after. No kissing, no cuddling, no – nothing. Any foreplay that might have occurred was just that – foreplay. It never meant anything to Harry.

He knows that.

So he doesn’t know why waking up in such a position really bothered Harry so much.

Unless…

Unless he knows.

Draco is hardly a master of subtlety (more practised in it than Harry, of course, but that’s a low standard). All of his friends know how pathetically in love he is. Hell, Justin, whom he hadn’t even  _ spoken _ to in nearly a decade, had sussed it out after one date.

It’s not impossible to believe that Harry might have realised that Draco’s feelings for him are a bit… deeper than he lets on.

And perhaps Harry can handle that as long as he thinks Draco isn’t going to get  _ more _ attached than he is.

That has to be it.

Harry has to know.

And he can’t imagine how to break it to Draco that this is just fucking.

After all,  _ Draco’s _ certainly not about to move out of the flat, and Harry’s hardly eager to move back in with his parents because he’s fucked up his flatmate situation.

It makes sense.

Well, except for the part where Harry  _ tenderly brushed the hair out of his face, _ but Draco can ignore that for now.

Draco decides to laugh it off. Make it clear to Harry (or, well, lie to Harry) that it means nothing. That it’s just sex. 

That the sex is great – it’s quite fantastic, actually – but that’s all there is.

Sex and perhaps the possibility for a tentative friendship.

Draco certainly doesn’t dare hope for anything more, anyway.

He puts on his dressing gown as he gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom, closing his bedroom door behind him. Harry is, mercifully, in the kitchen, and Daisy is in the sitting room, so Draco gets into the bathroom with no interruption. He locks the door behind him.

He takes a long, hot shower.

He knows he should talk to someone, but who would he talk to? Luna clearly wants him to date Harry. Astoria has made it clear from the start that she thinks him fucking Harry is a terrible idea. Regulus – well, Regulus doesn’t know any of this, and Draco is loath to tell him. It’s not that he thinks Regulus will judge him, but – he can’t take the paternal advice quite yet. He’s not that desperate. Which is also why he’s certainly not about to talk to his mother, either. Or Dora.

And that, really, is the sum of people Draco’s on good terms with.

Except. Well. There is Justin.

He could probably ask Justin. Justin might judge him, but their date made it clear that there are no lingering feelings between them. Justin said he wanted to be friends. He knows Draco’s mad for Harry.

Justin is, somehow, the only person Draco thinks he  _ could _ talk to about this.

Perhaps he scrubs a bit too hard, as if scrubbing will get rid of the memory of Harry’s sleeping form lying on top of him. 

Harry doesn’t knock on the door.

Draco knows full well that he takes over an hour in the shower, which is really just extravagant, but he doesn’t expect Harry to protest.

Harry’s in the sitting room with Daisy as Draco walks back to his room to get dressed (and text Justin). Draco doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He shuts and locks his bedroom door behind him, and then opens the window because somehow it still smells far too much like Harry and sex (specifically: sex with Harry) to bear.

He picks up his phone and shoots off a quick text to Justin.

> **Draco** : Hey would you like to grab coffee?
> 
> **Justin** : Boy trouble?
> 
> **Draco** : Something like that 
> 
> **Justin** : I’m free now
> 
> **Draco** : Great!

He works out a place with Justin that works for both of them, though that’s rather easy as they really don’t live very far apart. He confirms a time before getting dressed. 

He’s certainly not trying to impress Justin, so he puts on jeans and a button-up. It’s nothing special, but it looks decent enough to go out in public. 

He stops in the living room on the way out. Harry’s sitting on the sofa watching telly with Daisy, so Draco has to rap on the archway frame to get his attention. 

“I’m going out.”

Harry looks confused. “I didn’t think you had work today.”

“I don’t.”

Harry tells Daisy he’ll be right back, and then drags Draco out into the corridor. “Listen, about last night – or this morning, or whatever…”

“It’s fine,” Draco says. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Harry repeats. 

He lowers his voice so there’s no chance Daisy will hear. “It’s just sex, right? Two flatmates engaging in mutual stress relief so we don’t kill each other. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Harry looks like he’s going to say something, but after a moment he shakes his head. “Nothing. What’re you doing now?”

It’s not as if it’s a secret. “Getting coffee with Justin.”

“Justin?”

“Yeah.”

Harry looks confused now. “Justin – Justin Finch-Fletchley? Justin you used to date? Your longest relationship? That Justin?”

“That’s the one,” Draco says dryly. He doesn’t see why Harry should care. 

“But I thought…”

Draco frowns. “What?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind. Have fun with Justin.”

“Erm, thanks, I guess,” Draco says. 

Harry goes back into the sitting room. Draco puts on his shoes and leaves. 

* * *

Justin is waiting at the coffee shop when Draco arrives. At Justin’s recommendation, they’re at some gentrified boutique place on Old Compton Street. It’s probably ridiculously overpriced, but the rainbow flags plastered all over the place do sort of put him at ease. At least a bit.

Justin waits until they have their coffees and pastries (Draco was right: definitely overpriced) in front of them before asking, “So what’s the problem?”

Draco heaves a sigh. “Where should I start?”

“I find the beginning usually works.”

Draco wracks his brain. “I’ve been mad for Harry for years, and he’s always made it quite clear that he dislikes me, which is fine. Honestly. Anything with Harry – our godfathers are brothers, and while his parents and my parents don’t typically run in the same social circles… any time Regulus or Sirius have any big event, they invite everyone. And I’m not certain about Sirius, but Regulus is rather fond of trying to meddle in my life.”

“Glad to see that’s not changed.”

Draco scoffs. “I wish it had. I’m an adult. I’m grateful for the help – when I ask for it, and he  _ has _ got better at waiting for me to  _ ask _ first. But this isn’t about Regulus.”

“No. This is about Harry.”

“If I were to date Harry… assuming he  _ liked _ me enough to date me, it’d inevitably become a much bigger affair than it would need to be because we literally cannot escape each other if we tried.”

“That doesn’t sound ideal.”

“It’s not. And I never thought I’d have to consider it. I still don’t think I have to consider it. Not seriously. But… Luna – you know Luna?”

Justin nods. “Not well, but she’s friends with Neville.”

Of course she is. “Luna and I were flatmates. And she decided to move in with her boyfriend – an act which I certainly don’t begrudge her – and I didn’t want to ask Regulus for a rent reduction, because… it seemed like too much. And it turned out that Harry was looking for a flat at the same time, and somehow she convinced me to – let Harry move in with me?”

“That sounds…”

“Oh, it was a horrible idea. Top ten worst decisions I’ve ever made, probably. Though agreeing to his ridiculous plan to shag occassionally so we don’t murder each other is definitely in the top five, maybe even the top two.”

Justin, to his credit, doesn’t drop his croissant or choke on his coffee. He remains perfectly composed. “I’d typically advise  _ against _ sleeping with your flatmate, yes.”

_ “Is _ that something you’ve had to advise politicians of?” Draco asks.

“Not professionally.”

“I’ve been as smart about it as one can be. After we’re done, there’s no – no cuddling, no kissing, no sleeping together. We go back to our own rooms, maybe shower first – sometimes both of us shower first, but separately. And that’s it.”

He can tell Justin isn’t convinced. “All right. And is  _ that _ your problem?”

Draco shakes his head. “Harry’s babysitting his cousin’s daughter for the weekend, so he’s given her his room.”

“Ah,” Justin says. “I take it no one slept on the sofa.”

“No,” Draco agrees.

“No offense, but  _ that _ seems more like an issue for your therapist.”

“I don’t have therapist.”

“Really?” Justin frowns. “Interesting.”

Under different circumstances, he’d probably take issue with Justin’s tone, but right now, he’s a bit too desperate. “I’m not seeking help for my own neuroses. I just – he cuddles in his sleep. I woke up with him on top of me.”

“But you already know you’re in love with him. I don’t see why that’s an emergency. You’ve been in love with him this whole time, haven’t you?”

“I have, but – I tried to go back to sleep, though for  _ obvious _ reasons, that was  _ not _ productive, so I was awake when he woke up. Not that he could tell. I was, er, pretending to sleep.”

Justin frowns. “Did he say something?”

Draco shrugs. “He said  _ shit _ quite a few times, then tapped at his phone, and then…”

“You can’t blame him for rushing out.”

“That’s the thing. It’d have been normal if he had. Or, well, as close to normal as I could assume.”

“So what  _ did _ he do?”

Draco takes a long sip of his coffee, trying to avoid answering. Something about just answering this question feels impossibly vulnerable, but… well, Justin can’t exactly offer him any insight if he doesn’t know what happened. “He… he brushed my hair out of my face and… his fingers sort of… lingered. And then, after a moment, he got out of bed and got dressed and left, and… that was it.”

“I see.”

Draco doesn’t see. He still can’t quite make sense of it.

“Did you speak to him at all this morning?”

Draco shrugs. “I told him I was meeting you for coffee.”

“You… you told him you were meeting your  _ ex-boyfriend _ for coffee?” Justin’s eyes are wide, and Draco can’t imagine why.

“I hardly think a relationship a decade ago is anything to read into. It’s not as if I’m meeting  _ Viktor.” _

“Putting a pin in the fact that I somehow forgot you dated  _ Viktor Krum _ and I’ve yet to ask you about that – is it possible telling Harry you were getting coffee with me might not have been the best idea?”

“Why not?” Draco asks. It’s not as if Harry could actually  _ care. _

“If he actually  _ likes _ you, you’ve just told him you’re getting coffee with your ex rather than talk to him about whatever evidently happened between you last night.”

“But that’s just it. Nothing happened. The sex wasn’t any different than it normally is.”

“So he  _ normally _ brushes your hair out of your face?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I’m not an expert. I’m not a therapist, and I  _ really _ don’t know Harry well at all. We’ve friends in common – I can ask them to see how they think he feels about you, if you’d like, but beyond that – you’ll need to talk to him.”

Just once, Draco would like  _ talking about feelings _ to not be the best response. “You wouldn’t mind asking those friends?”

“Of course not.” 

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Justin shrugs and sips at his coffee. “I know what it’s like to be posh and gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Draco says.

“Maybe not, but you  _ are _ in love with another man.”

* * *

When he gets home, Harry and Daisy are gone. There’s a note on his bedroom door that they went to the park. Draco doesn’t think too much on it; he grabs his laptop and tries to get some work done.

He’s finishing up a commission when he hears the front door open. He saves his work just in case Harry decides to distract him, but he continues working.

Daisy bounds into the room and climbs up onto the sofa.

He knows better than to ignore her. He asks her if she had fun at the park, and starts a conversation from there.

She really is  _ adorable, _ though he supposes that he can’t be surprised that someone related to Harry is adorable. Harry himself doesn’t seem pleased with the situation. Draco wonders for a moment if Justin was right. Ultimately, he decides that that’s a ridiculous idea.

He doesn’t know  _ what _ happened this morning, but Harry isn’t jealous.

Harry excuses himself to make dinner (Draco assumes for himself and Daisy), and Daisy seems distracted by the telly. Draco turns back to his work. Daisy doesn’t complain. She’s old enough to sit quietly for a while with an adult not focusing on her every second.

Though Draco doesn’t expect Harry to cook him dinner, too, he can’t help but feel slightly jilted when he finds that Harry hasn’t. It’s no big deal, really. Harry’s made curry. He always makes it much spicier than Draco likes. Draco usually eats it anyway, but, well, Harry’s also accustomed to cooking for two, not three. It makes sense. 

Draco’s not going to overthink it.

Instead, he brushes it off and orders takeaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was "Draco (intentionally or unintentionally) hurts Harry".


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't speaking to him.

Harry’s not speaking to him.

Draco’s past the point of trying to rationalise this.

For some reason, Harry is acting as if Draco doesn’t exist. If Draco were a more direct person, he’d corner Harry and ask him why. He knows Luna would ask him (Luna probably  _ has _ asked him). He’s not Luna.

At first, he thinks Harry will cool off. Get over himself.

After two weeks, it’s becoming clear that he’ll need to do something.

But then he asks himself if he really  _ wants _ to do something. Isn’t it better this way? Things were going down a dangerous path, and surely Harry ignoring him is better than trying to fix things. At least in the long run.

After another week, he makes up his mind.

He has to do something, or else Harry will drive him absolutely fucking insane.

It’s really not as if he can evict Harry, after all.

First, he tries accosting Harry the moment he gets in, but Harry continues to ignore him and walks straight to his room.

Fine. 

Draco comes up with another plan.

He tries to catch Harry before he leaves for work, but that doesn’t make Harry speak to him either.

His notes wind up in the rubbish bin, his texts go unread, and even Luna says she can’t force Harry to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Which – fine. He supposes that makes sense. Luna’s never been quite as forceful as he has. It’s fine.

Finally, he’s fucking had it.

He waits by the door as Harry’s due to return from work. As far as he knows (which isn’t much), Harry doesn’t have anything planned after this. He’s been locking himself in his room the moment he gets home, so it’s hardly as if Draco can simply wait in the living room and strike up a conversation.

He’s finishing off a text to Astoria when the tumbler turns in the lock. He’s at the door, grabbing Harry by the arm before he can sneak into his room. 

“We need to talk,” Draco says.

Harry tries to shake him off, but Draco is determined.

“You can’t just ignore me.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“No,” Draco says. He’s as stubborn as Harry, and he can prove it. Besides, it’s been a month of Harry avoiding him. Draco is willing to do just about anything to keep that from turning into two. “We need to talk; I’m not leaving you alone until we do. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks.”

“And I’ve been avoiding you for weeks. You’d think you’d get the hint.”

“Listen, I’m not sure  _ what _ the fuck was so  _ horrifying _ about waking up next to me that you decided you needed to avoid me for a  _ month,  _ but I’m sick of it.”

Harry yanks his arm away. “What the  _ fuck? _ You think I’m avoiding you because we slept in the same fucking bed?”

“I don’t know, because you’ve not  _ told me anything!” _

“So it’s never occured to you that this might have something to do with you getting back together with your ex?”

What? “Back together with – with who? I’m not seeing  _ anyone.” _

“Oh, come off it. Justin. Neville said the two of you have gotten quite close.”

Draco has half a mind to find Neville Longbottom and tell him to mind his own damn business. “I’m not dating Justin, I assure you. We’re friends. That’s all there is to it.”

“Friends who’ve sucked each other’s cocks.”

“You expect me to believe you’ve  _ not _ remained friends with a single person you’ve ever dated or slept with?” Draco knows better than that. He knows  _ Harry _ better than that. “What about Neville?”

“Fuck off; I’ve never done  _ anything _ with Neville. Or Ron or Hermione.”

Draco finds  _ that _ hard to believe, but he knows better than to veer off into that particular argument. At least for now. “Not that it’s really any of your business, but I’m single, you’re the last person I’ve slept with, and while I can’t speak for Justin, I  _ can _ say that I’ve not been attracted to him for the better part of the past decade.”

“Oh,” is all Harry has to say to that.

Draco wants to ask him why he even cares when it hits him. He doesn’t think it’s a certainty, of course. But Harry has seemed to enjoy fucking each other as much as Draco has, and that’s not even to mention the truly bizarre moment that one morning a month ago.

“You’re not… Harry, you’ve not been  _ jealous _ of  _ Justin, _ have you?”

“No,” Harry says,  _ quite _ unconvincingly. “Of course not. Why should I be jealous of Justin?  _ My _ parents love  _ me.” _

“Justin’s parents  _ love _ him,” Draco says. Well, Justin’s mother does, at least, and Justin’s convinced his father  _ loves _ him, but simply… hasn’t coped with the fact that his only son is gay. Draco isn’t sure he agrees, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Whatever. I’m not jealous of Justin.”

“Even when you thought I was dating him?”

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Harry,” Draco says deliberately. “Need I remind you that it was  _ your _ idea for us to fuck – let alone more than once – while maintaining that nothing more would come of it? If I hurt you –”

“Hurt me?”

“Yes. If I hurt you –”

“You couldn’t fucking hurt me if you  _ tried.” _

Instead of argue (especially now that he’s fairly certain he’s right), Draco rolls his eyes. “And you say I’m repressed.”

“You are. And I’m not jealous – or repressed, or whatever the fuck you’re on about.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me for a month? You said it had to do with Justin.”

“Yeah, maybe I don’t want to fuck someone with a boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t mean you’d  _ avoid _ me,” Draco says. Not if that were all to it. He knows Harry too well for that. At least he hopes he does. “And, again, Justin and I aren’t dating, haven’t dated in a decade, and aren’t going to date again. If you’d wanted to know that, all you’d have needed to do was  _ ask.” _

“Fuck it,” Harry says. Before Draco can ask what, exactly, he’s referring to, Harry is pulling him into his bedroom and tugging his clothes off.

Draco knows, rationally, that having sex right now will not make this situation better. He knows he needs to  _ talk _ to Harry, to properly have a discussion about what the fuck happened – because, seriously, what the fuck happened? Was Harry jealous? Is he still?

But, well, it  _ has _ been a month.

And Draco’s only human.

When Harry finally –  _ finally _ – kisses him, Draco kisses him back. He lets Harry push him onto the bed, lets Harry yank his clothes off. None of that, in and of itself, is that unusual. Draco doesn’t consider himself a submissive person, but it’s not the first time he’s let Harry be rough with him – and he already knows he likes it.

What  _ is _ unusual is that Harry starts sucking on his neck hard enough that Draco knows for certain it’ll leave a mark. He wonders – but doesn’t dare ask aloud – if that’s intentional. He doesn’t mind if it is. In fact, the idea that Harry’s intentionally marking him is an arousing one.

Harry pulls away long enough to rifle through the bedside table for some lube, but then he’s back, and  _ Christ, _ Draco has missed this – even if it’s never quite been like  _ this _ before. 

Harry fucks him until he can’t think straight. He’s not as rough as Draco expects, really. There’s something almost sort of tender about it, though he does bite and suck more than Draco’s used to. Maybe he’s just imagining the tenderness.

Until, that is, he goes to get a shower afterward and Harry pins him to the bed. “If you leave this bed tonight – and you aren’t here when I get up – I’m done.”

Draco isn’t quite sure what Harry means by  _ done. _ “I need to shower.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Harry says, even though he is.

“For Christ’s sake, Harry, you can shower with me if it’s that necessary not to let me out of your sight.”

Harry huffs. “Fine.”

As Harry follows him into the bathroom, it occurs to Draco that this is the first time they’ve ever properly showered together. He can’t, in good conscience, include shower blow jobs or wanking each other off as simply  _ showering _ together, but that’s what they do this time.

He half expects Harry not to touch him at all, but no. Harry’s hands are all over him. Draco wants to ask him why he can’t keep his hands off him; he doesn’t mind (on the contrary, he quite likes it), but he doesn’t think Harry would react well to that particular confrontation. He clearly needs to process – well, whatever it is he needs to process – and Draco isn’t about to jeopardise things by asking stupid questions.

Harry tries to pull him back to his room to sleep, but Draco shakes his head. “Why don’t we sleep in my room? I’ve just changed my sheets this morning.”

So, for the second time, Draco finds himself face to face with the reality of Harry Potter spending the night in his bed with him.

Harry surprises him, once they’ve both settled in, by kissing him.

It’s not the sort of kiss that’s typically a prelude to fucking. It’s short, sweet, and relatively chaste.

They kiss for a while. Harry doesn’t make any move to escalate things, so Draco, still terrified of fucking this all up, doesn’t either. Eventually, Harry pulls away, caresses his face (seriously, what the fuck), and says, “Haven’t you got to get up in the morning?”

Draco wants to protest, but Harry’s right.

“Seriously,” Harry says as he spoons him, “if you’re not here when I wake up, that’s it.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Draco says.

* * *

Harry isn’t there when Draco wakes up. Part of him wonders if it was all just some bizarre fever dream. He knows it wasn’t; he can still smell Harry on the pillow.

Draco reaches for his phone and checks the time.

It’s already half past nine, but Draco hasn’t got to be anywhere until eleven.

His bedroom door is open, and he barely has time to consider anything before Harry’s coming through the doorway with mugs in hand. “Well, shit,” Harry said.

“What?” Draco asks.

“You’re up.”

He realises, then, that Harry has two mugs. “You can come back to bed,” he says.

Harry does just that. He hands one of the mugs off to Draco; Earl Grey with milk. Draco thanks him. He sips at the tea and waits a few minutes.

Harry is extraordinarily quiet.

Well, Harry’s been extraordinarily quiet for the past month, but he’s typically not been  _ this _ quiet the morning after.

Draco can’t stand it anymore. “Are we actually going to talk about it, or are we going to pretend nothing happened?”

Harry groans and rolls his eyes. “At least let me finish my coffee, you prick. And you are a prick. I can’t believe you told me you were getting coffee with Justin after I – you know I’ve not had a relationship since – well, since Cho.”

That’s when it clicks. While Harry had loudly insisted to anyone with ears that Cho was still hung up on her ex (who was, by all accounts, fucking gorgeous) – Draco remembers what happened barely a month after Harry and Cho broke up.

“You’ve not dated anyone since Cho?” Draco asks. He’s not a shining example when it comes to romantic relationships, but Harry and Cho had broken up four years ago.

“I’ve  _ dated _ people. I’ve not had a  _ relationship _ with anyone.”

“So, what, this was edging too close to a relationship and you couldn’t stand it? You could have told me.”

“God, you’re fucking obtuse,” Harry says. He kisses him; he tastes like coffee and cream and sugar. 

“Enlighten me,” Draco says when Harry pulls away.

Harry rolls his eyes again. “I… perhaps had begun to realise that you weren’t nearly as awful as I’d always insisted. It’s hardly as if I’m so ill-adjusted that I hadn’t pegged my  _ intense _ competitiveness – and obsessiveness, if I’m being perfectly honest – with you as a kid as latent attraction. I knew I was into boys, mostly, but I didn’t want to admit that I might be into a posh twat –”

“Posh twat? Fuck you; you’re a posh twat, too! You went to public school, your father met Sirius at  _ Eton, _ and just because  _ you _ didn’t go to Eton, too–”

“Shut up, Draco.”

“I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right. I’m posh, too. And I don’t like it. And you were a right arsehole. You’re still an arsehole. But you were fucking  _ insufferable _ as a kid.”

_ “I _ was insufferable as a kid?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “Glad we agree.”

_ “You _ were  _ so  _ much more insufferable than I ever was, Harry, honestly, what the fuck –”

“Will you  _ shut up _ and let me finish?”

Draco opens his mouth to protest again, so Harry kisses him. It’s not doing much to convince him to shut up.

“So I’ve admitted I was mad for you when we were younger –”

“You never said  _ mad –” _

“Draco, I swear to  _ Christ.” _

“You’re Jewish. You don’t believe in Christ.”

“Draco.”

“All right, fine,” Draco says, and he  _ tries _ to shut up. Honestly. But Harry had been  _ mad _ for him when they were younger?

“Anyway, I mostly grew out of it. And you pissed me off more than anything. It was just sort of – I mostly wanted to shove you against a wall and snog you and get it out of my system. And no, before you open your big mouth, that’s  _ not _ why I suggested fucking. Well. It’s not  _ just _ why I suggested fucking. I’d sort of hoped that’d work, though, if I’m honest.”

What the fuck?

“I didn’t  _ like _ you, or anything. Thought you were a stuck up posh prick. Disliked you, even. But – well, as I’ve said, I realised pretty early on that I was attracted to you –  _ am _ attracted to you – though I’d hoped it’d gone away by the time I moved in. And it mostly had, I guess. But then… I dunno, I guess just seeing you in your own home with no real defenses up was sort of… and I really  _ didn’t _ actually  _ like _ you.”

“You just wanted to fuck me.”

“Well, yeah.” Harry rakes a hand through his hair. “You know I’m not good with words, but I guess… between fucking you – which had the  _ opposite _ effect of getting you out of my system – and actually properly… talking to you, I sort of…” He groans and takes a long drink from his mug.

“You sort of what?” Draco asks when Harry doesn’t continue.

“You’re a fucking prick, you know that? You had me – I was asleep in your bed, and – and you threw my own words back at me and then told me you were meeting up with your ex – who, by your own account, was your only substantial relationship – and just fucking… left?”

“I was awake,” Draco says. The words come out of his mouth before he means them to.

“What?”

“When you – when you woke up that morning. I was awake. I’d woken up earlier and you were sleeping on top of me. I didn’t know what to do so I tried to go back to sleep, and I couldn’t. So. I was awake.”

“You were awake?”

“That’s why I texted Justin. Because – I’d thought I knew where I stood with you, and that just threw everything into question.”

“Why  _ Justin?” _

Draco shrugs. “I knew what Luna and Astoria both would say, and I thought it best not to tell Regulus that we’ve been having sex for months.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

“You must know that I don’t have many actual  _ friends.” _

“I know. I mean – shit, that makes me sound like a prick.”

Draco snorts and sips his tea. Harry  _ did _ make it just how he likes it.

“I overreacted,” Harry admits. “I’m sorry. It’s just – you were such a  _ prick _ for so long – and you’re still a prick, don’t get me wrong – and with everything…the idea of you getting back together with Justin just sort of…I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want to think about  _ why _ I didn’t like it, and I know hooking up was my idea, and I know I was the one to frame it as casual fucking, and – and you can ask any of my friends and they’ll all tell you I’m a fucking idiot who just reacts without thinking, and it’s partly the ADHD but also I think I’m kind of just… like that.”

“I’ve known you my entire life. I know you’re an idiot who reacts without thinking. That was never the issue. The issue was that you proceeded to ignore me for a month.”

“Seemed easier than talking.”

“Even once you got to the point of actively avoiding me?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t have a good excuse. It was a dick move. I’m sorry.”

Is Harry actually… apologising? “It  _ was _ a dick move,” Draco agrees.

“I know. So I had an idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“We switch phones and pretend to be each other for a day.”

Draco nearly chokes on his tea. “What has  _ that _ got to do with anything?”

“Well, we weren’t communicating, right?”

“Right…”

“I know Luna well enough to know she’s always quite blunt – and so are most of my friends. Astoria seems like she might hedge around the issue –”

“She definitely does  _ not,” _ Draco says.

“Then we switch phones and impersonate each other and our friends won’t lie to us, so we’ll sort of – we’ll know where we stand.”

“I think the whole day is a bit much. For one thing, I’m not giving  _ anyone _ my passcode.”

“Fine. Then just – until you’ve got to go to work. If it doesn’t work then it’s another shit idea I’ve had. No harm, no foul.”

Draco has to admit that it’s appealing. “You can’t use any other apps. Don’t post to any of my social media.”

“I won’t.” Harry hands him his phone, which was certainly not on the bedside table in Draco’s room the night before.

Draco wonders how long Harry’s been up.

“Here,” Harry says.

The phone is unlocked.

The idea of giving Harry unfettered access to his personal messages is  _ terrifying, _ and while having access to Harry’s personal messages  _ should _ be reassuring, it only serves to make him more nervous. Draco has never been a very anxious person, and he doesn’t like the feeling now.

Still, he hands Harry his phone. Unlocked. His heart felt ready to pound out of his chest.

“I’m not going to bother your mother. Or Regulus or Max.”

“Don’t tell Justin I hate him, either. I might not be  _ attracted _ to him anymore, but he  _ is _ still my friend.”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes.  _ “Fine.” _ He then, quietly, starts scrolling through and tapping at Draco’s phone, so Draco turns his attention to Harry’s phone.

The background is a photograph of Harry with Ron and Hermione. They look so happy. He knows neither Ron nor Hermione like him. They both, doubtlessly, think Harry can do better. To be fair, Draco knows Harry can do better.

He’s simply too selfish to not even take the chance.

So he opens the messaging app at the bottom of the screen.

The first thread is with Luna; Draco doesn’t bother reading it. He knows exactly what Luna will say. 

The next thread, though, is with Neville. Draco doesn’t really know Neville. They’d met more than once when they were younger, and Draco did eventually get rounded up to say congratulations at the wedding, but beyond that, his interactions with Neville Longbottom have been minimal.

He can’t think of anyone better to ask.

The thread is dated the day before; evidently Harry hadn’t told him that they’d slept together the night before quite yet.

Draco didn’t read too far back in the thread, but he did find himself surprised when he opened it.

> **Neville:** Mate you need to just TALK to him.
> 
> **Neville:** An extraordinary number of issues can be solved by TALKING about them!
> 
> **Harry:** yeah yeah yeah
> 
> **Harry:** just bc youre married doesnt mean youre a relationship expert
> 
> **Neville:** (eyerolling emoji)
> 
> **Neville:** I can’t speak for other married couples but Anthony and I absolutely communicate with each other.
> 
> **Neville** : I very much doubt we’d be married if we didn’t.
> 
> **Harry** : but ANTHONY isn’t a posh prick
> 
> **Neville** : I hate to break it to you but you’re also posh.
> 
> **Neville** : And sort of a prick sometimes too if I’m honest.
> 
> **Harry** : fuck you
> 
> **Neville** : (sideye emoji)
> 
> **Neville** : Just tell me one thing and I’ll drop it.
> 
> **Harry** : fine
> 
> **Harry** : what
> 
> **Neville** : Has HE tried to talk to YOU?
> 
> **Harry** : ...maybe
> 
> **Neville** : Look I can’t tell you how talking to him will pan out BUT
> 
> **Neville** : I CAN tell you that if you don’t talk to him things aren’t going to magically get better.
> 
> **Neville** : And you’re not going to be able to fuck him if neither of you can stand to be in the same room together.
> 
> **Harry** : ...ok you MIGHT have a point
> 
> **Harry** : MAYBE
> 
> **Neville** : Of course I do. TALK to him.
> 
> **Harry** : fine.

Draco doesn’t really know how to feel.

Mostly, he supposes, he can’t believe that Neville Longbottom tried to talk sense into Harry.

And he’d succeeded, from the looks of it.

Part of Draco wants to go back and see how long Neville’s been trying to get Harry to see reason, but that’s not a productive use of his time. He glances over to Harry, who is tapping intently at Draco’s phone.

Draco’s about to text Neville when Harry says, “Your friends are all pricks.”

“Luna’s not.”

“Luna doesn’t count. She’s my friend, too. Astoria and Justin, though.”

Draco snorts. “They’re honest. I’ve learned better than to keep people around who only flatter me.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He sounds almost impressed. “All right, then.”

Harry turns back to Draco’s phone, so Draco turns back to Harry’s.

“I can tell Neville we’ve – talked, right?”

Harry snorts. “You can tell Neville anything. The only person I’d ask you not to text specifically about us is my dad. Even Sirius would be all right, really.”

Draco stares at the phone in his hand.

After a moment, he starts to type out a message. It takes some thinking about  _ how _ Harry would phrase it, but eventually he settles on something that he thinks won’t make Neville immediately suspicious.

> **Harry:** i fucked draco last night

Draco doesn’t honestly expect a reply, but he gets one just as he’s started to read the next thread (with Hermione).

> **Neville:** Did you also talk to him?
> 
> **Harry:** yeah
> 
> **Harry:** this morning
> 
> **Neville:** Good! What happened?
> 
> **Harry:** he’s still a posh prick
> 
> **Neville:** He wouldn’t be Draco if he weren’t.

Draco feels offended. Who is Neville Longbottom to call  _ him _ a posh prick? Before he can dwell too much on that, Neville’s texted him back.

> **Neville:** That really doesn’t answer my question though.
> 
> **Harry:** arent you at work
> 
> **Neville:** I’ve a free period and this is much more interesting than marking quizzes.
> 
> **Neville:** I think we can safely drop the pretense that you’re not half in love with him by this point.
> 
> **Harry:** what
> 
> **Neville:** Harry come on.
> 
> **Neville:** I’ve known you longer than nearly anyone. You don’t have to admit it, but if I’m honest, he clearly has feelings for you, too.
> 
> **Harry:** ugh FEELINGS
> 
> **Neville:** Harry
> 
> **Harry:** who told you that anyway
> 
> **Harry:** that he has ~feelings~ for me
> 
> **Neville:** First of all, I’ve MET him and it’s QUITE obvious.
> 
> **Neville:** Second of all, we’ve quite a few mutual friends.
> 
> **Neville:** They’ve all at least hedged around the issue and I know Luna’s told you outright.

Draco is going to have words for Luna. But right now… 

“You and Luna talk about me?” he asks Harry.

“What?” Harry looks confused, but half a second later, he seems to have processed Draco’s question. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Neville said she’s told you that I have feelings for you.”

“She has, yeah,” Harry says, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Draco doesn’t say anything.

Harry rolls his eyes and kisses him. “Luna also told me Neville used to be in love with me and that the Loch Ness monster is real, so, y’know, grain of salt, with her.”

Draco isn’t convinced that Luna’s wrong about Neville, but… the Loch Ness monster seems far less likely. “Oh.”

Harry kisses him again. “If it helps level the playing field, I am, y’know, sort of in love with you, or whatever.”

Surely Draco isn’t hearing him properly. There’s no way Harry’s just told him he’s in love with him while they’re both sitting (naked) in his bed, scrolling through each other’s phones.

But then Harry meets his gaze, and  _ oh. _

Oh.

Draco kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was "Draco and/or Harry need to impersonate the other"


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry drags Draco around London.

Draco tries his best to avoid the tourist attractions in London. It’s not always possible, but as far as he’s concerned, the fewer tourists the better.

Sometimes, however, it’s unavoidable. Sometimes he has to catch a train at St Pancras or King’s Cross. Sometimes Justin insists he doesn’t have time to leave Whitehall for lunch. Sometimes Astoria or Regulus or his mother drag him to some exhibition opening or charity fundraiser at one of the more prominent museums in the city.

This was  _ not _ unavoidable. It was actually really  _ quite _ avoidable. Easily, even.

But, as it turns out, Harry has his heart set on going to the London Eye the very first day of the year the city isn’t overcast and grey.

And Draco has a hard time saying no to him.

He suggests alternatives, of course, but Harry will have none of it.

So the Eye it is.

It’s crowded and packed with tourists, and Draco’s certain it’s overpriced, but Harry looks so excited that he doesn’t think he really minds.

But he can still act like he does.

He complains about the crowd of tourists. He says he feels smothered.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Have you never been to the Eye before?”

“You  _ must _ know I have not.”

“Never?” Harry asks, as if this surprises him for some reason.

“Why would I come to a tourist trap to lock myself in a pod with a dozen people who’ve nothing better to do with their time? You  _ are _ aware there are a million better things to do in this city at any given time, don’t you?”

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Draco snorts. “No. I dislike tourists. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sure,” Harry says.

“I’m serious. I’ve never had an issue in a helicopter; the height isn’t the issue.”

“God, you really can’t  _ not _ be a posh arsehole.”

“As opposed to LARPing as working class.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he throws an arm around his shoulder, which is as close as Harry ever seems to get with PDA. At least so far. “You’re lucky I like you.”

_ “Do _ you like me?” Draco asks dryly. “You’re shit at showing it.”

“Nah, you’re right. I only like you for your cock.”

Draco laughs – in part because one of the nearby tourists gives them a look. “I think Justin has access to a helicopter if you’d like to try one,” he says instead of any number of much dirtier, less appropriate in public, things.

“Of course he does,” Harry says. But, to his credit, he doesn’t start on a rant about Justin, which is a massive improvement.

“Honestly, though, you  _ are _ aware that you’re the rich one of the two of us, don’t you?”

Harry scoffs. “As if Regulus and Max aren’t going to leave everything to you.”

“They might split it between myself, Rolf, Gina, and charity,” Draco says, “but I’m not the heir to the Sleekeeze fortune, either.”

“Touché,” Harry says. He frowns. “You know, I always forget you’re related to Rolf.”

“I don’t really think it counts. It’s only by marriage, and even then it’s his uncle and my mother’s cousin.”

“You realise that means you might be related to Luna one day,” Harry pushes on. “Which means that  _ I _ might be related to Luna one day.”

Draco swears his heart skips a beat. He knows it’s Harry, and he knows that Harry is probably joking. For one thing, Harry’s father still pretty much hates Draco, which Draco can’t imagine will be an easy thing for the two of them to work out. (And, unlike Draco, Harry  _ does _ care about his father’s approval).

“I didn’t realise you were thinking that far ahead,” Draco says.

“I’m not  _ planning _ that far ahead, but it’s not as if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”

Which is a totally normal thing to tell the person you’ve only been actually  _ seeing _ for a week.

“Anyway, I swear to Christ, Draco, if you freak out when we’re up there I’ll never let you live it down.”

“We’ve been over this,” Draco says. “You’re Jewish. You don’t believe in Christ.”

“Piss off.”

* * *

By the time the whole ordeal is over with, Draco has to admit he’s glad that Harry didn’t insist on getting a private pod. Not that this is something Draco will  _ ever _ do again (though Harry plays the part of clueless tourist quite well for someone who’s never lived outside of London in his life), but he can only imagine how distracted he’d have been by Harry if they  _ had _ been alone in the pod.

Harry drags him to some tacky tourist restaurant for lunch.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“Enjoying what?”

Draco gives him a pointed look. “All this tourist nonsense.”

Harry grins. “Maybe. Come on. How long have you lived in London?”

“Exclusively? Since I graduated uni.”

“So five years.”

“Give or take, yeah. But I spent a lot of time visiting Regulus and Max, too.”

“And  _ how _ many tourist things have you done?”

“As few as possible,” Draco says honestly. Harry knows he hates tourists. Hell, Harry hates tourists himself! It’s a natural part of living somewhere that gets loads of them.

“You really don’t think any of it’s worth it?”

“Absolutely not. It’s obscenely overpriced and crowded and overrated.”

“All right,” Harry says. Draco knows that can’t possibly be the end of the discussion, but Harry makes a big show of enjoying his Coke.

Two minutes later, Harry says, “We’re going to have a tourist day.”

“Please no.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Draco snorts. “I doubt that.”

“But you’ve never done the whole tourist route.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I’ve been to Whitehall. And now the Eye. And this restaurant. I think that’s more than enough.”

“No way. You’ve never been to Westminster Abbey?”

Draco shrugs. “Contrary to popular belief, I was  _ not _ invited to any of the royal weddings.”

Harry laughs. “Neither was I, but I’ve still been. Come on, Draco. It’ll be  _ fun.” _

Harry’s already insisted on that, and Draco doesn’t believe him. 

“I’ll do whatever you want when we get home,” Harry says.

Draco considers it. It’s not as if he has a difficult time getting Harry to agree to  _ anything  _ in bed under normal circumstances.

“One more place,” Draco counters.

“Fine,” Harry agrees. “But I get to pick it.”

“Fine.”

* * *

Draco isn’t about to become the sort of person who actively goes anywhere he knows there will be loads of tourists. Even Harry, mad for him as Draco is, is not enough to change that.

Especially since, as it turns out, Harry’s idea of having fun with tourists is primarily watching the idiotic things they do for his own amusement. (Though that  _ does _ reassure Draco that Harry isn’t  _ completely _ mental).

But, really, he can’t complain about watching tourists, especially considering what Harry lets him do when they get home.

He expected much worse, really.

* * *

Afterward, Harry spends the night in his room. It’s only been about a week, so while they haven’t spent an entire night apart, neither of them are overly eager to officially share a room. Their solution so far has been to alternate, and it’s been working.

Draco certainly doesn’t mind sharing a bed with Harry. 

He doesn’t think he’s ready for things to turn overly serious, but on that, he and Harry are on the same page. For right now, things are much more low-key. Relaxed. They know where they stand with each other, but it’s hardly as if they’re going to get married any time soon.

He lets his gaze sweep over Harry’s naked body. He’s lucky Harry feels the same way about him. He knows that.

“Draco?” Harry says.

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to Sirius’s party?”

Draco frowns. He hadn’t been aware of such a party. “Sirius is having a party? For what?”

“Honestly, I think he’s just bored.”

“I’ve not heard about it.”

“You should. Come, I mean.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “As a date?”

“I mean. I dunno. Technically, I guess, but I don’t think it’s the right time to tell Sirius about us yet. But he does know we’re flatmates, so even if you weren’t actually invited, I don’t think he’d be suspicious if you came.”

Draco knows better than that; he’s not made a secret of how he feels for Harry, and, if all of his and Harry’s friends are right, Harry’s not done so, either.

Rather than argue, he kisses Harry. There will be plenty of time to argue with Harry in the morning.

After all, some things never quite fully change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was "visit a monument"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry asks Draco if he's seen his hoodie.

They’ve been dating – properly, actually  _ dating _ – for about a month when Harry asks Draco if he’s seen his hoodie.

Harry has so many hoodies that Draco just simply looks at him rather than respond. There’s no possible way for Draco to know which  _ specific _ hoodie Harry is talking about. He’s never met anyone who owns more hoodies than Harry.

“Come on,” Harry says. “You know the one. It’s my favourite.”

“You have a million hoodies. You’ll need to be more specific.”

Harry sighs impatiently. “It’s the Chelsea one.”

“You have at  _ least _ three separate Chelsea hoodies,” Draco says, which is true. He’s seen Harry wear as many, at least, but who’s to say that he doesn’t have even more hidden away?

Perhaps this would be a good time for Draco to admit that he had, at one point around when Harry had first moved in, completely accidentally taken one of Harry’s hoodies – a Chelsea one, at that – out of the laundry. He thinks Harry probably threw it in with his clothes in the hopes of having to do less laundry himself.

Draco, however, hadn’t necessarily returned it.

He meant to, honestly. What use did he have for one of Harry’s hoodies?

But Harry disliked him back then, and Draco didn’t want to deal with the backlash. Besides, it was hardly as if Harry had asked him about it. If he had, Draco thinks he would have returned it with some grumbling about how Harry should do his own laundry and it serves him right for losing the hoodie.

And maybe he was a bit selfish, and he wanted something that meant something to Harry for himself. He didn’t think the hoodie meant  _ that _ much to Harry, really. Draco was sure Harry had far too many to miss just the one, surely.

Back then, after all, he certainly never thought that Harry would ever give him the time of day. He never let himself  _ imagine _ that Harry might properly one day be his  _ boyfriend. _

And yet.

Draco knows he should own up to this. That Harry will likely find it hilarious, and may tease him over it, but he won’t truly be  _ angry. _

Draco doesn’t always do what he should. Even now.

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he says instead. He’ll make sure of it.

After all, he gets to sleep next to Harry every night now. He doesn’t need to hold on to some old hoodie that doesn’t even smell like him anymore. (Did it even in the beginning? Draco isn’t sure; it  _ was _ fresh out of the laundry, after all, and it wasn’t like he’d smelled it.)

“Ugh, fuck, what if I’ve left it in my old flat?” Harry asks. He seems genuinely distressed at this idea, so Draco steps in.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Draco says. “Luna said the place was spotless after you’d left.”

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Maybe I left it at one of my parents’ one day?”

“Maybe,” Draco agrees, though he knows for a fact Harry did not do that. It’s not like it’ll hurt him, anyway. “You  _ do  _ have a million hoodies.  What’s so important about this one, anyway?”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno. I just like it the best. I think Sirius got it for me for my birthday one year, but it’s comfortable and warm and I just – I like it.”

That’s as good a response as any, Draco supposes, so he doesn’t push him. He just needs to figure out how, exactly, he’s going to get the hoodie back to Harry without Harry noticing Draco’s had it the whole time.

* * *

Barely a week later, Draco finds his chance. Harry is doing laundry and walks away before he sets the laundry machine to run. Draco pops the hoodie into the washing machine before Harry comes back from the bathroom.

When Harry gets back into the kitchen, more laundry in hand to shove into the machine, Draco is filling up the kettle.

“D’you want some tea, Harry?” Draco asks.

“Sure,” Harry agrees. He shoves the laundry into the machine and sets it to run.

Draco hums and pulls out one of Harry’s mugs as well. He fixes tea, and then they go to the sitting room together and watch telly. Draco really doesn’t pay attention to whatever Harry’s turned on; it’s some American comedy that seems to be set in the 1980s, but Draco couldn’t tell anyone more than that.

He’s far too distracted by Harry himself. He’s wearing grey joggers and a gold hoodie that looks so good on him. Draco’s never known another person to look so good wearing athleisure attire, and he dated Viktor Krum (briefly, but still).

The washing machine eventually goes off, so Draco pauses the programme and lets Harry go change the laundry.

Harry doesn’t remark on the hoodie when he gets back, but Draco doesn’t think too much on it. Harry’s sure to notice the hoodie once the clothes are dry. Besides, he’d much rather snog Harry than talk about a missing hoodie, and on that Harry seems to be on the same page.

Harry doesn’t bother to get his clothes out of the dryer when the buzzer goes off; he’s too busy getting his hands down Draco’s trousers. Honestly, the Chelsea hoodie is the furthest thing from Draco’s mind as Harry wanks him off.

Eventually, they end up going to the bathroom, and then to Harry’s room, where Harry fucks him senseless. It sounds sappy and counterintuitive, but sex with Harry really is the best Draco’s ever had – and he’s not had a lot of bad sex in his life.

It isn’t until half six when Harry gets up and stretches. Draco can’t help but stare at Harry’s arse. He knows Harry isn’t  _ perfect, _ really, but his arse is. Harry catches him and smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Very much so.” There’s no point in lying about it. The way Harry’s smirking at him makes his stomach twist in excitement even now.

“Well, I  _ suppose _ we can go for another round.”

Harry climbs back into the bed. Draco kisses him. He loves kissing Harry more than he’d thought possible, but, well, Harry did come back to bed for a reason – a reason he’s not about to ignore.

Draco gets some more lube from the bedside table and fucks Harry absolutely fucking senseless. Harry might be excellent in bed, but Draco is too, and he makes sure Harry knows it every time they have sex.

* * *

It’s not until they’ve showered again and ordered Chinese to the flat that Harry remembers his laundry.

Which is, to be honest, quite good for Harry. He tends to leave his clean laundry in the dryer for days on end. It’s something that annoys Draco even now, so he doesn’t think he can be blamed for a somewhat snide remark on how quickly Harry’s remembered his laundry this time.

Draco busies himself by doing some freelance work on his laptop. Properly being  _ boyfriends _ with Harry is distracting, and he  _ does _ actually have to work sometimes. Especially when he’s not quite worked up the nerve to ask Regulus about returning to uni. 

He’s hardly surprised when Harry bounds into the sitting room, holding the hoodie. “Look!”

Draco looks up. Harry’s wearing the hoodie. “Is that the hoodie you’ve been driving me mental about for the past two weeks?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He flops down on the sofa next to Draco and kisses him. “Thanks for returning it.” He pulls the hoodie on over his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco says, not daring to look away from his laptop. He’s a good liar, but Harry can read him better than just about anyone.

Harry curls up close to him. “Sure you don’t. Just like I don’t know where your green scarf is.”

Draco looks over to Harry and narrows his eyes. “You  _ stole _ my scarf?”

Harry grins. Damn him; he’s too cute, and he knows it. “I prefer to think of it as borrowing without permission, but with full intent to return.”

“I can’t believe you stole my scarf,” Draco says. He likes that scarf, and he’s been wondering where it went. Not that he really needs it now that it’s getting warmer, but still. He likes to know where his things are.

“I can’t believe you stole my hoodie.”

“I didn’t steal your hoodie,” Draco says. “You shoved it in my laundry and forgot about it.” This is, after all, the full and honest truth, but Harry doesn’t believe him. He can tell.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know I don’t believe you. I don’t mind. You can borrow any of my other hoodies any time you’d like. In fact, I think I’d like to see you wearing my clothes.”

“You’re impossible.” He can’t let himself get totally distracted now; he  _ does _ actually have work to do.

Harry kisses his cheek. “But you love me.”

He doesn’t deny it. “God only knows why. And I want my scarf back.”

“Fine,” Harry agrees. “But I’ll only trade for one of your shirts.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for this was "Harry or Draco returns something valuable that the other has lost."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna convinces Draco to volunteer.

Draco doesn’t know how Luna ever talked him into this. 

It’s not as if Draco is uncharitable. He grew up attending every sort of charitable event that his parents were invited to. His mother had thrown many a gala and charity auction at the Manor. Even Regulus isn’t immune to hosting charity events. 

Draco has grown up around charity events.

Of course, for most of the people he grew up around – his mother included, though Regulus excluded – charity was and is a way to show off. It’s always been all about appearances. 

For Luna, Draco knows that isn’t true.

That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer a gala over this.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Harry says when he sees Draco’s mask slip.

“You can’t possibly be enjoying this,” Draco says.

“Sure I am,” Harry says, which Draco is absolutely certain is a lie.

After all, for all his posturing, he and Harry are from similar backgrounds. Harry, too, is more familiar with silent auctions and galas than this.

As if he can read his mind, Harry shakes his head. “You know I  _ do _ volunteer, don’t you?”

He didn’t. Rather than admit that, he snorts. “Doing what?”

“Tutoring underprivileged kids. I mean, it’s nothing like this – and don’t get me wrong, I prefer  _ that, _ but it feels good to help.”

“Not all of us can be a saint, Harry.”

“I’m Jewish. I don’t have saints, remember?”

Draco rolls his eyes. Harry grins.

“You’re impossible.”

“You can’t convince me that helping other people doesn’t make you feel at least the tiniest bit better.”

Draco admits that it does, but that’s beside the point. He is not the sort of person for menial labour – even his worst jobs have been light on actual physical labour. Besides football and jogging, he’s not a very  _ physical _ person. But he knows that if he admits this out loud to Harry (who surely already knows as much), he’ll accuse him of being pampered and spoiled.

Which he is, but he doesn’t really want to hear Harry say it.

Harry throws an arm around his shoulder. “Come on. It’s just for a few hours, and then we can all go out for a pint together.”

Draco supposes he’s just lucky that the only one of  _ Harry’s _ friends here, excluding Luna and Rolf, is Neville Longbottom. Well, and his husband, but still. Though Charlie  _ is _ related to Ron and Ginny.

He doesn’t think he could handle doing this with Hermione Granger. He doesn’t think Ron or Ginny Weasley would ever let him live this down.

“I just don’t know why we had to do  _ this.” _

“Dunno,” Harry says. 

_ This _ is, after all, some sort of twenty-four hour volunteer-a-thon, and, as two of the last people to sign up, Draco and Harry (and Luna, Rolf, Charlie, Neville, and Neville’s husband) are stuck washing shelter dogs.

Well, Draco and Harry are stuck washing shelter dogs. Rolf and Charlie volunteered to clean cages (so it definitely could be worse), and Luna and Neville and his husband are socializing dogs.

Which is really just a fancy way to say they’re getting volunteer credit for playing with dogs. Draco’s surprised that he’s jealous, as he’s never been overly fond of dogs.

His father could never abide by pets, but Regulus and his husband had several cats. Draco rather likes cats. They’re usually quiet, keep themselves clean, and they’re more subtle about their clinginess than dogs.

He knows Harry grew up with dogs and cats both – and that he likes both. 

He’s fairly certain this isn’t the first time Harry’s had to wash a giant dog.

“I’m sure Rolf and Charlie won’t mind if you help them,” Harry says. 

Draco laughs humourlessly. “Hilarious.”

“I try.”

* * *

Draco is exhausted when his shift is over, and he wants little more than to get a nice, hot shower and relax with Harry, but instead he finds himself corralled to a pub.

He feels dirty and disgusting, but he knows too well that if he goes home, he won’t come back to the pub.

So he stays. And it’s actually sort of fun, if he can forget how badly he wants a shower. Harry is clearly making an effort to make Draco feel included, and Neville and Anthony are playing along.

Draco’s still not certain where he stands with Neville. After all, Neville  _ did _ call him a posh prick – and he hardly thinks that’s a statement of goodwill. Not from Neville. What little he does know about Neville doesn’t seem to match up with Neville remotely liking him.

Which is fine, honestly.

He’s only Harry’s best friend.

Draco doesn’t know when he started to care what Harry’s friends think of him.

Neville doesn’t avoid him, not properly – he’s too nice for that – but he doesn’t seek him out, either. Perhaps he’s simply most comfortable with people he knows well (which would, after all, be everyone else at the table). Draco knows too well not to think much into it.

Until, that is, Neville catches him on his way back from the loo.

“Malfoy.”

“Longbottom.”

Neville rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t the one to start this. “Listen. Harry loves you, and I know you love him, and that’s  _ great, _ honestly. Everyone’s quite chuffed for both of you.”

“Your point?” Draco asks.

“Harry’s not great at communicating.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Draco says dryly. As if he hasn’t known Harry his whole life! Harry might be many things, but a good communicator, he is not.

“All I’m saying – he really loves you. So. Y’know. If he’s being a bit of a shit, you can ask me and I can try to help.”

“I’ve known Harry as long as you have, you know,” Draco says, as if this is some sort of contest.

Neville rolls his eyes. “I’ve been Harry’s friend longer than you’ve been his boyfriend. And for the love of god, don’t let him convince you that he’s fine with things that clearly bother him.”

“As if I ever would,” Draco says.

“Good. And, obviously, if you break his heart –”

“You’ll kill me?” 

Neville snorts. “God, no. I just won’t hold Ginny and Hermione back.”

That might actually be more threatening, and Draco’s certain Neville knows it. “I sincerely doubt that’ll be an issue.”

“So do I,” Neville says, surprising him. “But he’s my best mate, so I’ve got to make my point.”

“So I can expect that you won’t harass me about him?”

“Of course. Harry’s a grown man. He can handle himself. I’ve no reason to meddle. I’m not  _ Hermione.” _

Oh no. Hermione’s going to meddle. Draco knows it. 

Hermione Granger is a force of nature and not one that Draco particularly likes to get involved with in any way.

“Just distract her by talking about politics or human rights and you should be fine,” Neville says.

“No, I won’t,” Draco says.

“No, you won’t, but she might like you more.”

* * *

Harry invites everyone over for dinner. Without asking, but it’s fine. Honestly. Draco didn’t intend on getting any work done tonight, anyway, so it’s hardly as if there’s anything better to do.

Besides have sex with Harry, that is.

He knows it’s rude, but the second they get home, he can’t take it anymore. He excuses himself, grabs a change of clothes from his room, and goes into the bathroom to take a shower.

As he walks to the bathroom, he hears Harry say, “He’s been waiting to do that all day, honestly.”

“Fuck you,” Draco says.

“Gladly, but maybe later when we don’t have company.”

Draco flips him off as he leaves.

He tries not to take his time in the shower. It’s not that he thinks entertaining is stressful for Harry (he knows it isn’t; Harry delights in his friends’ attention). It’s just that – well, it  _ is _ quite rude to take a long shower when you have company, and Draco was raised to be more polite than that. His need for a shower simply won out.

But he’s going to make sure to be as polite as possible.

Especially when he doesn’t think Neville likes him very much, to say nothing of his husband.

Draco is showered and changed in a record thirty-five minutes. When he leaves the bathroom, the smell hits him immediately.

Harry’s cooking curry. It smells heavenly.

He can’t help but gravitate toward the kitchen – which is where everyone is gathered anyway. Harry gives him a quick kiss when he sees him.

“Feel better?”

_ “Much,” _ Draco says.

“Dinner’s nearly ready. And don’t worry – I didn’t make it that spicy.”

“I hope you’re not making it mild for  _ my _ sake, because I absolutely can handle it spicy.” He knows it’s not great to lie to your boyfriend, especially when you’re posturing in front of friends, but at the same time, he can’t actually admit that he’s glad that Harry made it milder for him. That’s far too sappy. Especially in front of people. It’d be humiliating.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course I didn’t do it for your sake. I did it for Anthony’s.”

“It’s all the Ashkenazi Jewish and English food,” Anthony says. “I’ve got no tolerance for spice. Trust me – you should have seen the last time Rolf made shakshuka.”

“I’m not altering my grandmother’s recipe,” Rolf says.

“It  _ is _ quite spicy,” Luna says. “But Charlie and I’ve got used to it. Anthony hasn’t built up his tolerance.”

“Neville knows how to make a good curry. He should do it for you at home,” Harry says.

“Twenty-seven and you’re already a Jewish mother,” Anthony says.

“Oh, like you don’t shove food on people.” Harry scoffs. 

“I never said I didn’t.”

“I think we split cooking most of the time,” Neville says.

Draco isn’t sure why, but he anticipated more tension.

There’s no tension. He’s still not sure Harry’s friends like him, but they don’t seem uncomfortable around him, which is more than he expected. 

They eat (and it  _ is _ delicious, and Draco can actually properly enjoy the curry this time without being overwhelmed by how spicy it is), and then Harry challenges Neville to a video game.

Draco doesn’t mind that everyone is staying. Even when Luna gives him a questioning look, he shrugs. He loves Harry, but he’s not about to let that love for Harry prevent him from voicing his own discomfort.

That said, he does make sure to sit next to Harry on the sofa.

Even though he has absolutely no interest in whatever video game Harry and Neville are playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was: "Harry and Draco volunteer together"


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day

Draco has the strangest feeling that he’s missing something. He can’t fathom what it is. He and Harry have agreed not to tell their parents (and godparents) that they’re dating until they know for sure that this is for the long haul, because, well, frankly – while Draco’s certain  _ most _ of them wouldn’t mind, there’s no accounting for Harry’s dad or Draco’s mother.

Draco  _ thinks _ his mother will accept it. He’s certain he’ll have to convince her that Harry is nothing like his father (at least not in the ways that matter), but she’ll eventually adjust.

James Potter, on the other hand…

Well, Harry’s not overly eager about it, either.

They have an unspoken agreement not to discuss it further – that is, until they’re ready to tell everyone.

And they’re not.

Their friends all know, more or less. It’s not as if Draco has many friends to begin with, so making sure they all knew was a non-issue. Especially since Harry took care of it when they swapped phones. 

Draco’s fine with that.

Though, in retrospect, perhaps he should have prepared better for  _ this. _

What he’s missing hits him like a bus when he checks his phone after breakfast: it’s Valentine’s Day.

And he’s not prepared anything.

The problem is that Draco’s never properly celebrated Valentine’s Day before.

He’s used to paying no mind to the adverts and offers and romantic films flooding the cinemas.

He’s not entirely sure if Harry  _ expects _ anything, but he’d feel like a shitty boyfriend if he doesn’t at least try.

So he scrambles to find something that he thinks Harry will appreciate without being too over the top.

* * *

Harry is, strangely, already home when Draco gets home from work (and errands). While Draco sneaks his gift into his bedroom, he sees Harry playing a video game in the sitting room. 

Harry calls out a greeting to him. Draco pops his head in just to excuse himself for a moment.

Once Harry’s gift is safely stowed in the back of Draco’s wardrobe, he goes back out to the sitting room and sits down next to Harry, who kisses him.

Draco kisses him back, of course. Part of him still can’t believe his luck.  _ Harry Potter _ is his boyfriend. Properly. Not only that, but Harry’s in love with him, too.

“Look at this,” Harry says, shoving his phone in Draco’s face.

It’s an Instagram post from Neville Longbottom. It’s a photo of a quite tasteful bouquet of red roses next to a small potted succulent with the caption  _ “@tony.goldbottom had this delivered to me at work. Not pictured: the box of chocolates I’ve had to hide from my students. I’m really lucky to have such a wonderful husband.” _

Draco isn’t sure how Harry wants him to react.

He settles on a placid, “That’s nice.” Which is clearly the wrong thing to say, as he realises seconds after he says it.  _ That’s nice? _ Honestly.

“When I go back to do my teacher training, I swear to god, Draco, if you do this I  _ will  _ break up with you.”

Oh, thank god. “I wouldn’t. Red roses? It’s as if you don’t know me at all.”

That seems to mollify Harry. “Good. I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to, y’know, you cooking me dinner or sucking my cock. Or Chelsea tickets. But I’ve never liked flowers.”

Harry’s words remind Draco of something. “Doesn’t Neville love plants, though?”

“He does,” Harry admits. “But still. The red roses are so cliché and cheesy.”

“Duly noted,” Draco says. “Do you want me to suck your cock now or later?”

“Later,” Harry says. “Let me finish this level.”

Draco does so, occupying himself with his phone as Harry plays his game. He replies to a text from Luna about how Rolf doesn’t do Valentine’s Day (which Draco supposes makes sense, as it is in its core a Christian holiday, and Rolf has always been much more observant in his Judaism than Harry) but that the three of them are having a movie night just for a night in.

Harry finishes his level, which he announces with relish, and Draco kisses him.

And, well, a promise is a promise, and he loves sucking Harry off.

* * *

He helps Harry cook dinner, though he’s surprised when Harry produces a bottle of his favourite champagne.

“Astoria helped,” Harry says.

Of course she did. Draco makes a mental note to thank her. It’s not that he thinks he’d mind if Harry got him any sort of alcoholic beverage that isn’t his favourite, but he can only imagine the patience Astoria needed to summon for this. 

Then again, Astoria’s always been much more patient than Draco. Or Harry, for that matter.

For dinner, they make ravioli from scratch. It’s more involved than Draco usually likes to be, but he adamantly refuses to use the frozen ravioli Harry bought at Tesco. You can taste the difference, and even if Harry doesn’t understand that now, Draco’s certain he will.

Harry puts a bit too much vodka in the sauce. The ravioli themselves are  _ perfect, _ though; Draco sees to that. He has better attention to detail than Harry, anyway.

When they sit down to eat, Draco’s fairly certain he couldn’t have had a better Valentine’s Day.

“By the way,” he says.

Harry looks up. “Yeah?”

“If  _ you _ ever send  _ me _ a dozen red roses for Valentine’s Day, I won’t break up with you, but I also won’t suck your cock for a week.”

“I think that’s worse,” Harry says, pulling a face. “We can still have sex if we break up.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Because that worked out so well before.”

“It did. Glad you agree.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re the one who’s dating me. Funny how that works.”

“I have got a gift for you, though.”

“Besides sucking my cock?”

“Besides sucking your cock,” Draco says. As if he doesn’t  _ like _ sucking Harry’s cock. Honestly.

“I’ve got one for you, too. Besides the champagne, I mean.”

“Really?”

Harry shrugs. “You  _ are _ my boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“But it’s nothing as cliché or sappy as roses. I mean, I know Neville  _ likes _ that shit, and that’s why Anthony does it, but – neither of us really do, so. I wouldn’t. But I just – it seemed shitty  _ not _ to get you anything, and champagne’s not really a  _ gift, _ y’know? So. Once we’ve finished eating I can get it for you.”

“Have you properly done Valentine’s Day before?”

Harry shrugs. “Once. With Cho. But it was weird. We’d  _ just _ started dating, and it was like… actually, it might’ve been our first proper date.”

Draco grimaced. “Valentine’s Day sounds like a  _ horrible _ first date choice.”

“Oh, it was,” Harry agrees.

“I’ve actually never… celebrated Valentine’s Day before. Not properly.” Admitting it to Harry feels a bit like exposing the ugliest parts of him, but they  _ are _ meant to be boyfriends, aren’t they? And Harry’s not seemed to mind any of the other ugly parts of Draco he’s seen over the years.

“Really?”

“Really. The only time I’ve been in a relationship on Valentine’s Day before was with Justin, and we were both far too eager to skip it in the name of keeping our secret relationship a secret. None of my other relationships have come close to Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Well, I think it’s overrated anyway.”

That, it seems, is that. 

Until, that is, Harry bites into one of the raviolo. “Oh my  _ god, _ Draco, these are  _ delicious.” _

“I told you they’d be worth it.”

* * *

That night, Draco and Harry exchange gifts. 

Harry insists on giving Draco his gift first, so Draco relents. 

He’s pleasantly surprised to find a new cashmere sweater in emerald green. 

“Neville and Ginny helped pick out the colour,” Harry says.

Draco kisses him. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Really? Because if you don’t, I can exchange it.”

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t let you know if I didn’t like it?” Draco asks, rolling his eyes. 

“No,” Harry admits. “All right, fine. I get it. I’m glad you like it.” Harry kisses him. “Can I open mine now?”

Draco nods and watches as Harry unwraps his gift. Last minute as it was, Draco rather thinks he’s outdone himself. 

Not that there’s much of a bar to live up to.

“Fucking hell,” Harry says when he sees what Draco’s gotten him. “I think this is a bit excessive.”

“Do you? Because I can return it.”

“No,” Harry says. “Fuck that. I’m gonna set it up now.”

Draco’s fairly certain he’ll regret buying Harry a Switch, but, well – it  _ was _ last minute, and it’s  _ not _ a sappy gift, and though he had to take the money out of his savings… it’s not like Harry won’t use it.

“But I still  _ do _ want to have sex tonight,” Draco says. Just to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was: "Harry and Draco spend Valentine's Day together"


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco sees something strange in the bookshop

Draco has to do a double-take.

It’s not the title that catches his attention, not really. It’s the cover illustration.

It doesn’t  _ really _ look like Harry. Harry isn’t white, for one, nor is his hair straight. Harry is also a grown man, and not a high school aged boy. But there’s something in the expression, and the shape of the eyes that’s jarring. It’s uncanny, really.

Then he sees the name and has to wonder if someone is fucking with him. 

He buys the book without a second thought.

On the way to the Tube station, he texts Luna and Neville a photo of the book cover and asks them if they’ve any idea about this. Neither of them have. Both, however, are as confused by the whole thing as he is.

> **Neville** : That REALLY looks like a whitewashed version of Harry though
> 
> **Neville** : Actually hold on
> 
> **Draco** : ??

Neville replies after a few minutes with a photograph of Harry – the real Harry – at about eleven or twelve years old, in the same exact pose as the fake Harry on the cover of the book.

> **Neville:** This was from high school
> 
> **Luna:** oh wow that is exactly the same photo
> 
> **Draco:** was that a public photo?
> 
> **Neville:** Yeah. It’s from a science competition.
> 
> **Draco:** that’s… weird and concerning.
> 
> **Neville:** I can ask around and see how they might’ve found Harry – because it is definitely weird and concerning.
> 
> **Draco:** please do.

* * *

When Draco gets home, Harry is on the sofa, distracted by his laptop.

Draco isn’t quite sure how to bring this up to him – such a thing is so far beyond anything he’s ever experienced before, and Harry doesn’t always react well to potentially upsetting news.

Harry, though, seems to notice something is wrong, because he says, “What’s up?”

“I was at Waterstones earlier today, and I saw something… strange.”

“Strange how?” Harry asks.

Draco pulls the book out of his bag and hands it to him. “Strange like this.”

Harry frowns as he examines the book. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“If it is, I’m not the one who’s come up with it.”

Harry looks over the back cover. “Well, besides the fact that I’m sure as shit not  _ white, _ I’m also not a fucking magician.”

“I rather thought you’d tell me if you  _ were _ a magician,” Draco says.

“I think I’d have a hard time keeping it secret when we, y’know, live together.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Though Neville pointed out that the cover is… eerily similar to a photo of you from high school.”

Harry frowns. “Which one?”

Draco pulls out his phone and brings up the photo. “This one.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “That’s – I think I should call my dad about this.”

That’s what Draco was afraid Harry would say. He knows it’s the reasonable response; Harry’s father  _ is _ a lawyer. If there’s something suspicious going on, which there seems to be, Harry’s father is actually probably a good person to contact.

“All right,” Draco says. “I mean – I’m sure it’s nothing. But just in case…”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Just in case.”

* * *

Draco does  _ not _ expect James Potter to show up in their flat with only a text as warning.

He supposes it makes sense.

James Potter is, if nothing else, fiercely protective of Harry. And this whole situation is just, well,  _ weird. _

James Potter doesn’t even acknowledge Draco as he sits on the sofa, nevermind the fact that Draco was the first person to bring this whole issue to Harry’s attention. And he knows for a fact that Harry’s told his father as much.

As if that isn’t enough, Harry reminds his father of this.

“I’d have had no idea if Draco hadn’t brought it home to show me. Neville’s the one who pointed out that the cover’s based off of that one science competition we did together in high school. Obviously, I’m not white, but…”

“But it’s still unmistakably him,” Draco says.

“I can see that,” James Potter says, and Draco’s sure he’s not alone in thinking he’s being snippy.

They haven’t told any of their parents that they’re dating, and now would be a shit time to do it, but Draco’s not sure how much more of this he can take before he snaps. Harry is his  _ boyfriend; _ he’s perfectly within his rights to be concerned that someone is using not only his likeness and his name without permission, but that whoever it is is whitewashing him.

Of course, again, Harry’s father doesn’t know that Draco’s his boyfriend.

Which is part of the problem.

He knows Harry can tell he’s tense.

“Draco, why don’t you go, er, go get us something to eat, if you don’t mind? I can give you some money. I think we’ll be here a while.”

Draco wants to snap that he’s no one’s damn servant, and that Harry’s perfectly able to order takeaway himself, but he knows that if he stays – or worse, sulks in his room – that it’s just going to be worse for everyone involved.

“All right,” he agrees. “Might stop and get a pint with Justin or Astoria first.”

He doesn’t miss the look Harry gives him, but what – is Harry going to say anything?

“Fine,” Harry says. “I’ll let you know if we make any progress.”

Draco nods, and as he leaves the room, he hears James Potter ask Harry why he’s being so friendly.

Draco really needs that pint.

* * *

As it turns out, both Justin and Astoria have plans, but Neville invites him over for dinner.

Draco must really be desperate, because he takes the Tube up to Golders Green.

Besides Astoria and Pansy, Draco doesn’t know anyone else his age who owns a house, but apparently Neville Longbottom and his husband do. He supposes it makes sense; Neville’s family has money, and Anthony Goldstein was friends with Astoria at uni, so it’s not as if he’s likely to be  _ poor. _

But still, it takes him by surprise to find himself at a proper  _ house. _

He rings the doorbell, and it’s Neville’s husband who lets him in.

“Draco! Welcome! Neville’s just finishing preparing dinner.” 

He lets Anthony Goldstein usher him in to the sitting room, but he feels strange. It’s not just the sitting room itself, which is both tastefully decorated and cozy, with bookshelves lining the walls and plants on most available surfaces, in a way that he somehow didn’t expect from Neville and his husband, but it’s also Anthony.

He’s only really met Anthony a handful of times before, and never alone. Either Astoria or Harry and Neville have both always been there as a buffer.

Anthony, though, seems perfectly  _ nice. _ Of course, he doesn’t really believe that anyone who’d marry Neville Longbottom would be anything but. He’d be surprised if they ever even fight.

He doesn’t begrudge Longbottom this, of course, but he can’t fathom living that way himself.

He intends to make pleasant small talk with Anthony, but he’s derailed by Anthony asking about the book.

“I can’t believe that,” he says. “Nev showed me the photo and everything; it’s mental. Couldn’t fathom it happening to me.”

“His father is at the flat now.”

“Ah,” Anthony says. “I’m not a big fan of James Potter either.”

And here Draco thought all of Harry’s friends worshipped the ground James Potter walked on. “Why not?”

“He’s an arrogant prick, to be honest. Absolutely refuses to recognise that maybe he world’s treated him quite well because he’s a rich white Christian man who at least insists he’s straight. And I know – I’m a middle class white Jewish man, so it’s not as if the world completely shits on me, either, but I  _ am _ married to a man. Don’t get me wrong; I love Neville more than anything, and I’d not give him up for anything in the world, but there are material drawbacks to being openly  _ not _ heterosexual.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Draco says. “It’s not as if – I’m  _ very _ much aware that I’m incredibly privileged, myself. I wasn’t always, but… I assume Harry’s inability to shut the fuck up means you know about my father.”

“Mate, living in  _ England _ means I know about your father.”

That’s fair enough, really. “That was a wakeup call to stop being such a spoilt rich prick.”

“You’d think his wife leaving him would’ve been enough for James Potter.”

In spite of himself, Draco snorts. “You’d think.”

“Obviously, I understand why Harry’d want to talk to his dad right now, because, well – I’d be on the phone with Nev’s parents right now if it were me.”

“Do you… you get on with Neville’s parents?”

“Sure,” Anthony says. “Though, granted, we’ve not got the, er, complicated history you and Harry have. It’s always been rather straightforward with Neville; we were friends, and then we were boyfriends, and we got engaged, and then married, and – here we are. Not that we’ve not had our disagreements, but… I don’t think it’s ever been on the scale you and Harry used to be famous for.”

“Famous?”

Anthony rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Famous.”

“It’s not even that I think – my father will hate me being with  _ any _ man when he finds out, and frankly I don’t even give a shit about him. I think my mother will come round eventually. My godfather and his husband, I think, already expect us to get together.”

“That’s Reg and Max, right?”

Draco assumes Anthony’s met them through Neville; Sirius, after all, knows Neville quite well. “That’s right.”

“They’ve been my Uncle Isaac’s best mates since high school.”

That throws Draco for a loop. “Really?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, Max and Isaac were two of the only Jewish kids, so of course they sort of gravitated toward each other, and wherever Max went, Reg went, so.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t see them  _ that _ often, and I definitely avoid their parties if I can. But sometimes I’ll see them on holidays, or definitely whenever my uncles have a party.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, Nev and I didn’t piece it together for a few years, really. They do talk about you a lot. Good things, but – y’know. They do.”

“I know neither of them have ever been fond of my father. Not that I can blame them. But – I know Regulus loves my mother like a sister, and Max at least  _ likes _ her.”

“I think they both dislike James Potter as much as your father, really. But they do like Harry. Though I think that’s more to do with liking Harry’s mum, and Harry being more like his mum.”

“Probably,” Draco agrees.

“I don’t think they’ll be at all disappointed when you tell them, is sort of my point. I’ve never met your mother and I can’t speak for her. But Harry’s mum and stepdad’ll be pleased, too.”

“Really?” Draco doesn’t quite believe him, but then he can’t remember the last time he spoke to Lily Evans.

“Really.”

Neville comes into the sitting room then, holding three bottles of lager. “Meal prep’s all done, so we can have a drink now. Draco, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” Draco says, and it’s actually not a lie. Somehow, over the course of the past several months, he’s come to actually view Neville Longbottom as a friend.

Of course, he’s still not convinced that Neville’s  _ never _ fancied Harry, but he  _ is _ quite convinced that Neville is deeply in love with his husband and deliriously happy. Luna’s said, unprompted in a way that made Draco uneasy, that Neville and Anthony are completely monogamous, so he’s not really got any concerns there.

So it’s fine, really.

He’ll only have to reevaluate on the off chance that Neville and Anthony break up, which he actually hopes doesn’t happen (and not out of purely selfish reasons, either).

Neville hands them each a bottle and settles in next to his husband.

It’s actually sweet to watch. Not that Draco would ever admit that. But for so long, his only friends have been women, and while he certainly feels at ease around Astoria and Pansy, and even Luna and Rolf (and Charlie), there’s something that he can’t quite place about spending time with a couple where both parties involved are men.

“You know, for all his faults, Jem isn’t going to rest until he has answers,” Neville says.

“Good,” Draco says. “I might dislike the man  _ immensely _ – not for what he did to my father; the prick deserved it, but for assuming I’m anything like that fucking twat – but he’d better do whatever he can to help Harry.”

“Oh, Regulus insists you’re just like your mother, and Max insists you’re more like Regulus, but I think they both agree you’re more  _ Black _ than  _ Malfoy,” _ Anthony says. “And considering who James Potter’s best mate is, I sincerely doubt he’d dislike you if he got to know you.”

“One can hope,” Draco says. He’s unconvinced that Anthony’s right about James Potter, though he certainly wouldn’t disagree that, in personality, he’s much more like his mother and godfather than his father.

“Regardless, he’d do  _ anything _ for Harry. And especially when you consider that whoever this is blatantly ripped off his name, his likeness from a public photo fifteen years ago,  _ and _ made him  _ white? _ Jem’ll have a field day eviscerating whoever this is.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right.”

“Course I am,” Neville says with such confidence that Draco actually believes him.

* * *

He comes home with leftovers for Harry and James, at Neville and Anthony’s insistence.

“They wouldn’t let me leave without taking food home,” Draco says.

“Sounds like them,” Harry says. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious; they’re both great cooks. Thanks.”

This is typically the point where they’d kiss, but with James still there, it’s more than a bit awkward.

“Dad, homemade leftovers are all right with you, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” James says.

“Draco, why don’t you help me get everything set up on plates?” Harry asks, which Draco knows is an excuse to get him alone, so he agrees. 

They walk into the kitchen alone, and almost immediately, Harry has Draco pinned against the counter.  _ “Fuck, _ I just want to fuck you.”

“I think it might be best if we wait for your father to leave.”

Harry groans. “I  _ know, _ it’s just – he’s so invested in this, which makes sense, cos I’m not happy about it, either, but… you know my preferred form of stress relief is  _ not _ to fixate on the issue?”

“It’s not?” Draco asked. “You really  _ have _ changed since we were teenagers.”

“Piss off,” Harry says. 

“I can always go visit Luna and Rolf…”

_ “No. _ Don’t leave me alone again. I’ll go mental.”

“I’m not sure my sanity can stand another several hours in your father’s presence.”

“Honestly, Sirius likes you well enough. Dunno why Dad doesn’t.”

“Sirius does?” Draco asks. He’s not heard that before.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He thinks you’re a prick, don’t get me wrong, but he thinks you’re a funny one.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted.”

_ “Besides, _ Regulus adores you, and he  _ generally _ trusts Regulus’s judgement of people.”

“Oh, apparently Regulus and Max have been mates with Anthony’s rabbi uncle for thirty-odd years.”

Harry frowns. “I didn’t know that. Really?”

“That’s what he says. Apparently Regulus has told them all that I take after my mother.”

Harry pulls a face, but then he looks like the entire world’s just clicked into place. “Oh my god.”

“No.”

“Oh my god, you do.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do.”

“My  _ mother, _ Harry?”

“What, would you rather take after your father?”

“Well, no, but…”

“But what?”

“But I don’t like that this is the conclusion everyone draws.”

“Holy shit, no wonder Sirius likes you. I mean, besides the Tory shit, he generally kind of  _ likes _ your mum. And your mum and Regulus are sort of two peas in a pod, really. It’s  _ alarming _ how alike they are. Sirius bitches about Regulus all the time, but he also, like, obviously would kill for him.”

“I’m not like my mother.”

“You are  _ so _ like your mother,” Harry says. “It’s not a bad thing. I take more after my mum than my dad.”

“Thank god for that.”

Harry snorts and kisses him. “I like you anyway, you know.”

“I’d certainly hope so.”

Harry kisses him again, lingering a bit this time. “I’ve been thinking… not to completely change topics, but…”

“But what have you been thinking?”

“I think it might be time to tell everyone. I mean, it’s been months, and it’s been working, and I know my dad and your mum won’t be  _ thrilled _ at first, but my mum and stepdad pretty much just want me to be happy, and my mum likes your mum  _ and _ she’s friendly with Regulus, too. And obviously Sirius and Regulus have probably been betting on this for years.”

“You think?”

“Oh, absolutely. You know both of them. They’re as competitive as  _ we _ are, except they’re stupid enough to back it up with money.”

“Rich enough, you mean.”

“Well, that, too,” Harry allows. He kisses him again. Draco can’t quite believe that he’s so used to kissing Harry by now. “If you’re not sure, we haven’t got to. But I just wanted to make sure you know where I stand.”

It  _ would _ be a relief not to worry about everyone finding out. And they do get on with each other’s friends. And they do both essentially sleep together every single night, even if they don’t technically share a bedroom. 

And they  _ will _ have to tell their families sometime.

“Let me think about it?”

Harry doesn’t look disappointed, which is a good sign. “All right. Think on it.”

“We should probably get the food reheated so your dad doesn’t think we’re killing each other.”

“Or worse,” Harry agrees.

So they heat up the leftovers and go back out to the sitting room. As a rule, Draco doesn’t like eating in the sitting room, but he also doesn’t want to be the prick asking Saint James Potter to move his fat arse and respect his son’s living space.

“I’m going to grab my laptop,” Draco says, once the food is laid out.

“All right,” Harry says.

James Potter doesn’t even really remark upon his existence.

Draco gets his laptop from his room and tries to work on a commission he’s been stuck on. He really does need to talk to Regulus about going back to school, too. He can’t do this forever, and he’s not going to rely on inheriting Regulus’s fortune (or on Regulus supporting him financially indefinitely), especially when he knows as well as Regulus does that anything he and Max leave behind will be split between Draco, Rolf, and Rolf’s sister Gina.

He should at least get an actual job. Preferably one he doesn’t hate.

He decides to draft an email to Regulus. It’s less intimidating than a phone call – and less likely that he’ll get distracted from the goal at hand.

He’s about halfway done when James Potter says, “So, Draco.”

Draco isn’t sure why Harry’s father is speaking to him. “Yes?”

“You say you saw this book at Waterstones?”

Is that all? “Yes. It was in the new releases. I was looking for a birthday gift for my friend Astoria, and she likes novels, so – it’s usually a safe bet for her.” Shit; he’d completely forgotten to get a gift for Astoria in all the excitement.

“You’d never heard of this before?”

“No. It’s not as if I have a Google alert for Harry’s name.”

“You don’t?” Harry teases. “Draco, I’m  _ crushed.” _

Draco rolls his eyes. “Sure you are. Listen – Mr. Potter, all I can tell you is that I saw the cover and was struck by the fact that it’s essentially a white version of Harry. Well, Harry in high school, but still. Then I saw the name, and texted some friends, and brought it home to show Harry. That’s all I know.”

“All right,” James Potter says. “How long have you and Harry been flatmates?”

“Er, a bit over a year, isn’t it?” Harry says.

“About that, yes. Though as you know, I’ve known him my whole life. I’d have recognised the same thing with Astoria, for that matter.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco says, because he’s not sure what else to say.

“Draco, why don’t you help me bring the dishes into the kitchen?”

If James Potter thinks this is suspicious, he doesn’t say anything. Just to be safe, Draco locks his computer. It’s not that he distrusts James Potter, it’s just – yeah, no, actually, it’s that he distrusts James Potter. He doesn’t want James Potter in his flat, and he’s sure Regulus would agree with him.

But the bigger issue at hand is Harry, and Draco would never forgive himself if he fucked Harry over just because he resents his father.

He helps Harry collect the dishes and bring them into the kitchen. Harry sets to washing them as he apologises for his father. “Honestly. I’ll tell him tomorrow that I’ll meet him round his.”

“I appreciate it,” Draco says.

“I didn’t realise he’d invite himself over.”

Draco did, but he knows better than to say that and start a fight. “It’s all right. I can deal with him for one day.”

Harry smiles and kisses him. “Thank you.”

Of course, at that moment, Draco notices James Potter standing in the doorway.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, Harry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for the prompt: "Harry and Draco discover that somebody has written a series of books about Harry's life. These can be fictitious or not, your choice."

**Author's Note:**

> i will keep updating the characters and relationships as well as new chapters come out!
> 
> * * *
> 
> come visit me on [tumblr](https://xslytherclawx.tumblr.com/), and feel free to join my Harry Potter [discord server](https://discord.gg/yb6bS3c)!


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